Minor Arcana, Pt 1: Declaro
by Isolde
Summary: Complete. A wizarding ritual is revived in Harry's 7th year. Why will it change Snape’s life, what will Harry do about his strange new feelings, and what does Draco want? Slash (HPDM, HPSS, SSDM all at least implied); also RWHG. Continued in Pervinco.
1. Rites of Spring

Title: Declaro  
  
Author: Isolde  
  
Rating: R (overall)  
  
Category: Drama/Romance  
  
Summary: In Harry's 7th year a wizarding tradition is being revived. Why will it change Snape's life, what will Harry do about his strange new feelings, and what does Draco want? This is initially inspired by Diana Williams' "The Courtship of Harry Potter". At least implies SS/DM, HP/DM & SS/HP. Includes HG/RW (het) as well.  
  
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling.  
  
Declaro I: rites of spring  
  
The new year had been uneventful, except for the usual events. Harry had met Hermione and Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan on the platform at Waterloo. Ginny had blushed, Hermione had rolled her eyes. On the Hogwarts Express, Harry had bought too many sweets, Ron had eaten too many chocolate frogs, Draco moved through the train being an arse with his stooges in tow, Neville lost something, and in the Gryffindor 7th carriage they'd giggled like ten year olds over Seamus' new tattoo. Well, perhaps that wasn't a usual event, but at sixteen it seemed acting like you were ten or eleven was, at least, familiar. More familiar than being sixteen anyway.  
  
In the Great Hall, however, as everyone was being seated, and the new 1st years - looking smaller again this year - were coming through, some things seemed different. There was a kind of whispering and looking that was, not more subtle, but trying to be subtle. Checking each other out after summer - who was taller, better looking, better dressed, happier or quieter or smoother - was never subtle. He heard about Draco's new robes from somewhere down the table; Harry hadn't noticed. Someone mentioned Cho Chang's very new and even experimental broom, some Hufflepuff boy apparently had the latest hair, and, strangest of all, Dean Thomas had come with a whole set of the new Beauchamp's Encyclopedia of Magical Charms supposedly with an aim to be top of his year. Harry couldn't decide what was weirder - Dean competing at schoolwork or Neville's concerned interest. He would have asked what the hell was going on if now hadn't been the time for Sorting.  
  
A few more chairs were filled as Harry looked down the upper year ends of the house tables. He barely noticed a red-haired girl who smiled gleefully at Ron and giggled at Ginny, registering a new Weasley cousin or some such. The 7th years at every table were. polished, or something like it. Carefully dressed, poised, and eyeing each other. He was watching Crabbe brush his very expensive looking robes while trying to ensure nobody noticed with some confusion when he noticed Professor Dumbledore was already most of the way through his forbidden forest cursed floor kitchens out of bounds curfew and Filch speech. But before the food arrived there was another something new.  
  
"Many of you will have followed the debate about the Rite of Engagement over the summer." Which meant nothing to Harry but plenty of people seemed interested - he was going to have to work out a way to get the Prophet delivered in the holidays. Although, of course, this was the last year, and by this time next year he'd be somewhere else, though who knew where. It at least seemed likely he'd live through school - there'd been no sign of Voldemort since the last Spring Showdown (as he liked to think of them, now, or at least, when he had no major injuries and not evidently about to die).  
  
"I'm aware that many of your families will have strong views on the matter, and want to reassure you, as I have done your parents, that Hogwarts will be taking no part in this latest Revival movement." Harry realised he must have missed something, but Hermione would obviously fill him in later. She looked a bit concerned, but she mostly did. Ron looked like he was about to either laugh or throw up, which was also pretty usual.  
  
"Here at Hogwarts we respect the cultural allegiances and traditions of many groups. I know you will understand that participating 7th years should conduct negotiations at home. Special leave may be arranged when absolutely necessary, but I must insist that the Rite not be allowed to intrude on your studies, or on the school's spirit of collegiality." The last thing on anyone's mind, Harry thought, as they were once more divided up into houses and set against one another, in the nicest possible way of course, was collegiality. He eyed the Slytherins and fantasised some ritualised duels as the food appeared.  
  
* * *  
  
Apparently the Rites of Engagement were part boring politics and part trashy romance novel. Harry was pretty disappointed.  
  
Ron said, "I heard Dad talking about it because there's a fight at the Ministry I think. Some old wizarding custom no one uses any more."  
  
"Yeah there was something in the Prophet," Dean added, "cause I remember there was duelling. Not to the death or anything. Mostly arranging marriages and such, I think."  
  
Seamus laughed. "Nah it's more job offers and apprenticeships. My Dad's pretty keen and I'm going to get this guide on how to say you you're prepared to compete. I think it sounds wicked."  
  
"Well I've never heard of it." Hermione said in an irritated tone. "When was this supposed to be 'traditional'?"  
  
Hermione was always a dampener on the boys in the Gryffindor common room. All the other girls had some other life, really, where they did things in other places and sometimes wandered through, or flirted, or heaped scorn with a glance. Except Hermione. And there was always something for her to dampen, too. Harry felt ill with a kind of loss. Their last year: exams, goodbyes, and then what? Insert possible Voldemort death clause.  
  
As usual, when Hermione was disparaging something, Seamus felt required to defend it. "My Dad said his grandfather did it. There are like competitions, magical duels and such, and you get points for good grades, Hermione, you should like that. And some families only deal with other families, I think. But anyway, it's really about what you'll do after school. And other people compete to have you work with them, because they think you're great, or you might be and. they bargain with your family for like the best deal and all."  
  
"Seamus Finnegan I don't think you have a clue what you're talking about."  
  
Harry thought she was probably right. But, it didn't sound so bad. A kind of game, a bit like the Tournament but with no one getting hurt and, at the end, a job to go to. "When you get the guide thing Seamus," he said "you'll tell us all about it, right?"  
  
"And Hermione can tell us how it's exploitation of minors or something." Ron never got that Herm would never get jokes about how serious she was.  
  
"Ronald Weasley you are such a child." Hermione twirled off with a not as offended as you might think kind of face, and Ginny followed her with a very similar twirl. Cute.  
  
"Yeah, Ron-ald." Dean sang, "You're such a child."  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
Potions first up, first day. And again, first up on the third day. Maybe they're toughening us up or something. But it makes the meal seem extra delicious and way too short. Over the eggs there's a kind of flutter of whispers. Two tables down it seems to be a Slytherin noise. A bit to my right Seamus says "Draco". And there he is. Wearing. something.  
  
"Merlin, look at him!" someone called from down the table. "What is that supposed to be?"  
  
"I reckon it's the Rite costume. Should have known the Malfoys would be all over it. Proper wizarding family stuff." Dean Thomas stuck a sausage in his mouth. "What?"  
  
"Dean?" Lavender asked, "Want to fill us in?"  
  
Only Dean can inhale a sausage like that. "Well. of course I haven't got the book yet or anything."  
  
"Oh," she exclaimed, "I'm waiting for it too. Are they old ones, do you think, or are they making."  
  
"Does anybody actually know anything?" Hermione asked in a long-suffering voice. Padma self-consciously raised her hand. "Draco's robes are part of the Rite?"  
  
"I think so." Everyone looked then.  
  
Draco moved calmly through the Slytherins, who seemed to all need to speak to him, even touching the new robes, though even I could tell he wasn't keen on that. Maybe because he's first again, leading in something. You have to give Draco credit for leadership. I guess. When it's not evil leadership.  
  
The robes are black, but closely fitted in the shoulders, chest. The sleeves are full at the end, flared and then below the hips. I just noticed Malfoy's arse, may my eyes be washed out with soap. Thin green or gold stripes run down the robe and, yeah, he looks pretty. whatever, ok, or good. It's a good outfit, way better than school robes, if kind of showy. But this is Malfoy after all.  
  
Mail.  
  
Nothing for me, but it's not sad that no one much would write to me here, at least no one I know - and Hermione long ago worked out how to divert the Saviour-of-the-Wizarding-World mail to a room in the dungeons somewhere. My friends are here. There's Sirius, when he can. But the first week's mail, full of family things, always makes me ache a little. I look at Dumbledore - who's sort of family here - and find him looking at Malfoy. Can't help an internal snort. He doesn't look that good. Now that's a disgusting thought. Right now he's just a pretty good-looking guy receiving his owls.  
  
"Wow," Seamus and Dean gasp in unison.  
  
* * *  
  
Hermione Granger heard from Karen Hughes of Ravenclaw, in her loud whisper at Hermione's elbow in the library that is so very irritating, that Draco Malfoy is, do you know, the very first, or at least equal to the very first because no one could have been before today which is the very first day - Karen! - to receive an offer under the rites of engagement since the 19th century.  
  
It was no surprise to anyone that Hermione came to the Tower well informed about said rites and equipped with references, "which she said I had to return by Friday because people will be wanting them. And, Ron Weasley, how come you never mentioned any of this. I know I owled you often enough, and I hear all about Quidditch teams and nothing about reviving some major wizarding social order?" There was the barest pause in which Ron could fail to respond. "Ron?"  
  
"I. well, no one," Ron looked around vaguely for support. "It didn't seem important." Hermione's what-were-you-thinking scowl is impossible to ignore. "I know Dad an' Percy said it wouldn't come to anything."  
  
Neville tossed himself into an armchair across the hearth and offered Ron a supportive smile. "There was an article in the Daily Prophet at the beginning of the holidays. I read it to my grandmother. And then lots of letters, and a couple more articles. She was really interested so I read them all. Some people in the Ministry thought reviving this rite where students finishing school had agreements about what they were going to do would, you know, give us security in these trying times. Something like that. Cause we never seem to know if you-know-who is coming back or not." Several concerned faces looked at Harry. "Sorry Harry," Neville added.  
  
The-boy-who-kept-having-to-worry-about-it shrugged and smiled. "It's ok," he said. It really was. "So it's about jobs or apprenticeships, like Seamus said? Why the special dress robes, then? Why the white owls with ribbons?"  
  
"That's not what it sounds like in here," Hermione interjected, pulling one book out from the others in front of her. "Although, there do seem to be contradictions. I think it may have changed a fair bit, but at least the ancient history version is about marriage proposals, or. well. proposals."  
  
"Malfoy's getting married?" Seamus cried. "I think that bit's not used anymore," she replied. "Percy said," Ron struggled to find some certain information that would appease Hermione, "no hang on that was about something else, about Fudge I think."  
  
In the general laughter and confusion, Hermione was clearly both cross and embarrassed, which has never a good sign. "It's clearly meant to be about sex." Which shut everyone up. "Well, as an ancient practice. I mean - like here, see, with the robes and everything."  
  
An engraving of a boy in a more revealing version of Malfoy's outfit, long slits showing his arms and legs. And ribbons in his hair. Ron wasn't the only one to snicker. "Pity he missed the ribbons."  
  
"I've skimmed," she said, and Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances. "It's, well it was, a kind of year long competition for the best, you know, mate, and it starts and ends with a . well. a fertility rite. I haven't read them all, but when it died out I think it was maybe mostly about having a job lined up after school. And your family arranged it for you. I don't think they had the clothes for that version."  
  
Some time later the common room was still talking about Rites of Engagement. Seamus and Ron were happily inventing scenarios for Malfoy's humiliation as his father married him off to Voldemort. Lavender Brown had arrived with the Patil twins, who had been specially fitted for the new robes in Diagon Alley the day before school. They were full of new information about the rites as a coming-of-age ritual, how the robes were your expression of interest but maybe you didn't have to wear them, how they had no idea about the owls with ribbons but they were really neat, and how you could get married or engaged-to-be-married by the end of the year if that's what your parents negotiated for you and. The rest descended into friendly chaos as Hermione railed against arranged marriages, Padma almost surreptitiously showed Lavender pictures of the different robes as she found them, and the boys teased each other about virgin sacrifices and being promised as Fudge's office flunky for the rest of your life.  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
In the corridor outside Transfiguration at the end of the first week there is Malfoy holding court with his 7th year Slytherins. I could avoid it, and Ron's pulling me in the direction of the classroom, but there's no way not to be curious.  
  
"Malfoy. Nice dress." Perhaps I should be curious without Ron, though.  
  
"Very mature, Weasley," Draco scoffs. The girls laugh and the guys try on versions of the Draco smirk without pulling it off at all. Maybe Zabini. But it was a stupid thing to say. A Ron and Malfoy thing to say.  
  
"Yeah, well, at least I don't need Daddy's help to get a girl or a job. How's the dress working out for you? Maybe you should try the ribbons, or is your hair actually stuck to your head?"  
  
"Ron. . ." I begin, but he's not listening.  
  
Draco didn't even bristle. "I don't expect you to get it Weasley. I guess your father's trained you to bark at any mention of wizard culture or traditions, and unlike him you're not really an independent thinker, are you?" And did he just compliment Mr Weasley?  
  
I can't stop myself - "Has to be odd being the only one, though."  
  
There was almost a flicker of something at that. "What, Potter?"  
  
"I suppose you'll just insult me if I try to ask who sent you offers." He gives me one arched eyebrow. "I'm just curious."  
  
"I guess there'd be a whole flock of offers for the hero of the wizarding world. You probably won't have to declare your interest anyway, but. . ."  
  
"There's no way Harry's interested in that any of that,' Ron sneers on my behalf. "He doesn't need it."  
  
"Do shut up, Weasley," Blaise laughs. "No one's talking to you."  
  
"Fuck off Zabini." Ron has hold of my arm and it's easier to go, though I really am curious. "C'mon Harry. Transfiguration, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, coming." Half way to the door I can hear Pansy Parkinson sliding up to Malfoy.  
  
"So there's no one you really want yet Draco, is there?" she purrs - or she wants it to be a purr anyway, but I find it strangely annoying. "Cause you know I've been talking to my father. I'm sure you'll be interested in one of tomorrow's owls."  
  
From the door I catch Draco's eye and there's something in his look which isn't just boredom and contempt, and not just the wry amusement he then sends back to Parkinson. "Pansy," he says smoothly, "you know I'm always interested." Something I can't place.  
  
While trying to make Ron taller, and having hardly heard the warnings about how dangerous physical alteration spells can be, I get a flash of Dean's expression of panic as Neville raises his wand nervously and it hits me. Panic.  
  
Ron hits the floor, one leg clearly longer than the other. "God, sorry Ron." Mrs McGonagall was already on her way.  
  
"Mr Potter, concentrate. What did I say?"  
  
"Concentrate."  
  
"Transfiguration is not an illusion. Even the slightest change to another's body. . ."  
  
Draco was scared. At least nervous. Things are definitely getting interesting. 


	2. The Importance of Being Earnest

Declaro II: The Importance of Being Earnest  
  
In the second week of term the importance of robes, rites, and owls with ribbons exploded. If there was a trigger for that, Harry couldn't see what it was. Perhaps families that had considered participating had waited to see who would do it first - and if that was it then the Malfoys must have been the right family.  
  
Seamus went to London to meet his mother on the weekend. Everyone knew what for, though Ron wouldn't let anyone ask about it in the common room on Sunday night, and Seamus clearly decided going to bed early was better than facing up to a Weasley sulk.  
  
Monday's Daily Prophet included an interview with Cornelius Fudge, which expressed his warm admiration for those families who wanted to maintain the most fundamental wizarding traditions, at which Hermione snorted indelicately. The Patils received their "green robes", as they were apparently called, and they weren't the only ones either. Snape gave them a significant look, but they went by arm in arm, and giggled when he passed. Lavender said there was nothing he could do, the Ministry had approved it and most parents were behind it after all. And what could you really object to, anyway? It was some kind of security, if you made an engagement; and if you didn't, well it was just fun then, and better clothes and special parties.  
  
Tuesday's Witch's Weekly included a picture of Draco in his green robes, looking glamorous, dignified and youthful all at once, Harry supposed. Draco turned his grey eyes slightly towards the window, in recognition of the obvious. It was a suspiciously professional portrait, and the Gryffindor boys took bets on whether those bookcases could be found anywhere in Hogwarts. Hermione assured them Dumbledore would never have allowed Rita Skeeter on the grounds.  
  
Wednesday brought the rush of special owls. Another for Draco, which must have been at least six, though Harry wasn't counting. But white owls also came for Zabini and Parkinson, and at least one other Slytherin that Harry missed because everyone tracked the two owls trailing ribbons to Ravenclaw. He then forgot about the other houses entirely when a ribboned owl came down low along the Gryffindor table.  
  
Flicking its white ribbons irritably across the plates and platters, the owl balanced itself between a jug of pumpkin juice and the pile of newspapers expanding in the wake of Neville's owl-post. Seamus and Neville shifted nervously while the owl settled, and let out a shared breath when she clearly directed her attention to Dean. The entire table watched him sit there until she made a soft impatient noise. He tentatively untied the small scroll fastened above the ribbons. No one said a word as the scroll expanded into a smooth white and gold roll and the owl left in a hasty flurry. After a long beat or two, someone further down the table giggled and Dean looked up with a grin - "Guess I'm the first Gryffindor after all, Harry."  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
Ron was still swinging his bag irritably against the wall all the way to Divination.  
  
"Ron." Another thunk. "Ron!"  
  
"It can't really matter that much." Thunk. "I mean, so what? No one's saying you have to do it. Or me. Or anything." Thunk. "Dean can if he wants you know. Seamus too."  
  
"It's bloody ridiculous." He's finally going to say something. I lean against a window ledge, and Ron scowls at the floor. But I'd nearly be grateful for Trelawney's intervention, because while I'm his friend I definitely don't need this. Ron has no. . . I think it's tact.  
  
"It's all a death-eater plot, I bet," Ron, well, whines. "I mean nobody's heard of the bloody Rite of Engagement for bloody ages."  
  
"So Seamus and Dean, their parents are death-eaters now?"  
  
He huffs, "Well, no. They can just be bloody idiots."  
  
"Ok." There's another thunk and then he drops the bag entirely and walks over to me, looking down at a huddle of 1st years being intimidated by Madame Hooch. We can hear her shrill whistle.  
  
"It's not like it's a real competition where, you know, the best wizard will win or anything." Ron has moved on from talking to ranting. "It's just another stupid scheme. Just another complication."  
  
"Win what?" Cause I genuinely don't know.  
  
"Just win, you know. Be the best. I mean, if you can get the proper clothes and, say, tutors for all the competitions. . ."  
  
I know that if I say it, then I'll have said it and I won't ever be able to take it back. But if Ron's going to go round being a total idiot, and upsetting the whole year because he thinks someone has something. . . "Is this about Hermione?"  
  
* * *  
  
Everyone knew not to mention the rite around Ron. So, only when he was evidently occupied, playing chess, talking Quidditch, and other everyday things, did the others swap gossip from other houses or try and reach a Gryffindor position on the whole business. There even seemed to be a "distract Ron" roster, though Hermione and Harry pretended not to notice.  
  
On Friday there was a letter in the Prophet from Arthur Weasley questioning whether teenage wizards and witches should really be subjected to the attentions of their elders "sanctioned by an archaic tradition which wizarding society has long outgrown." Ron was ever so happy about it and talked about organising a petition to Dumbledore. It was bit too much like calling them all children to be popular in the 7th year common room, but everyone opted not to mention it. By Saturday, though, when a Hogsmeade pass for the upper year had everyone excited, people were being less cautious.  
  
Ron blinked hard when Lavender asked Patma for the second time whether she was quite sure they could get green robes in Hogsmeade. He flinched when he saw Seamus had traced a gold S in the air over Dean's head, and they happily quarreled about removing it. Everyone knew that Sarah - a Ravenclaw who graduated last year - was the girl who had sent a declaration of interest to Dean, and Dean was very happy to be teased about it. Then Neville came in with his new copy of A Youth's Guide to the Rite of Engagement. There was some enthusiastic jostling for a position near the book, and when Parvati noticed another special robe for a forthcoming feast Ron leapt up with a growl. The common room door slammed loudly.  
  
Hermione is already scolding, "Parvati, really. You know. . . ."  
  
"Hermione, can't you talk to him?" she replies. "We shouldn't have to be all secretive just because Ron isn't happy." Everyone could feel the murmur of assent, even the ones who were automatically on Ron's side. "It's about time we got to do something fun."  
  
Hermione has no choice but to be Hermione. "Ron's right to be concerned. Nothing just appears like this, and almost every Slytherin family. I mean, not only Slytherins and it's not like Slytherins exactly are or have to be evil. . . But, I know. . . but it's Ron."  
  
They shuffled around one another nervously as people went to bed. Down the hall they could hear Parvarti explaining that the summer robes would suit her much more, and from up the boys' stairway Seamus called out "Goodnight Sa-rah" in a teasing falsetto and Dean took off after him. When only she and Harry and Neville were left, Hermione asked, "Dumbledore doesn't like it either, does he? Students all distracted, dressed up in some kind of uniform - ok, different kind of uniform."  
  
Neville met Harry's eyes but neither of them had anything helpful to offer except, "You know we're definitely on Ron's side."  
  
"We all are." Neville added.  
  
"You mean," she said, "even if he's obviously being an idiot."  
  
"Especially then."  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
Ron's already there, pulling loose pieces from the end of his broom with pliers from the kit I had given him at Christmas. There's more than an hour till Quidditch practice, but he's avoiding the latest round of who received owls and look it says on this page...  
  
"So it's about Hermione, right?" I ask.  
  
He puts the pliers down. Puts the broom down. We've barely spoken the last couple of days, not because I'm all for the rites, because I'm not; I'm just not against them either. I can see, really, why it's appealing. I mean flattering, to begin with, to be asked to make some kind of major commitment - though being on Ron's side and publicly not talking about it means I'm still not entirely sure what kind of commitment. And then, I don't know about Ron, but I haven't got a clue what I'm going to do next, when Hogwarts is finished. Playing Quidditch for a living isn't a very realistic aim. There's not even any kind of closure on the big evil that dominates my life. So to have something set out, even someone to talk to about it.  
  
"No!" I wait it out. "Not really. Maybe."  
  
He's twirling the pliers now, and I'm tempted to take them from him. You know, just in case. "Only," she says, "You know."  
  
"Um. Maybe. But I'd know a lot more if you'd just say it."  
  
"Right. No reason why Harry Potter would get it, I guess. Hah." And that's a really bitter laugh, and I suddenly feel really pissed off about it.  
  
"What won't I get, Ron?" He rolls his eyes. "Or don't you have to explain - you just get to make everyone else tense and miserable."  
  
"It's not really your problem is it. Maybe because you are just a little bit rich, famous, and popular, and good-looking, and."  
  
"And.?" I can't believe this.  
  
"Just leave me alone."  
  
And then I know he means it, and everything seems out of focus because Ron is always on my side, and I'm always Harry to him, to him and Hermione, and never the boy who. . . .  
  
I'm at the door of the broomshed faster than I should be. I should tell him he's just angry. I should give him a chance to take it back. "This would be less stupid if I didn't know what the problem is," I finally say. He doesn't look at me. "She's not going to pick anyone else or anything that's far away from you. It's always going to be you." I can see when he closes his eyes, trying to make me go away. "And you know she probably won't even. . ."  
  
"Could you just leave?" And I would, but I can't when he's so stupidly angry with everyone. "It's not like I asked for your sympathy." And then again, maybe I can.  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
There's the usual business of owl-post, but no one is excited by ordinary mail right now. Neville's unfolding the Prophet and there'll be some new historical piece there about a famous wizard or witch's Engagement, and maybe a letter about it as well. One of the girls, or maybe Neville, will read them tonight even though we've already seen it. There's a ribboned owl and most people pay attention to it, though I'm watching the professors at the high table studiously not notice it. I can't really see what kind of dark plot the rite could be part of, and even Mr Weasley owled Ron yesterday saying not to worry about it - he doesn't like it for a lot of reasons, but that doesn't make it evil.  
  
That owl must have gone to Slytherin because Snape gives the upper end of his table a cold glare when they explode into excited giggling. I think anything more cheerful than a smirk must be un-Slytherin. I don't need to wonder who the owl was for because any minute now - yes, here he comes - Colin will run up with the latest news. He's appointed himself semi- official gossip courier, often with photographs of course. He specialises in other houses because we know about our own. Seamus yesterday; and he's more relieved than I expected. This is his second day wearing the green robes, and Ron hasn't spoken to him since he put them on. The first boy in our house, but I bet not the last. Dean will, now he doesn't have to be first. And Neville wants to, I know it. He told me confidentially last night that this seems a really good opportunity to get a position after school that's based on something more than just his marks. We know more than we did about what the rite involves, but I don't think anyone's sure about what it's doing to us.  
  
Colin is even more excited than usual. Apparently Zabini has a declaration, which isn't news, it's not his first, but it's from a man. We always talk about the rite in terms of careers and places to travel or live, even though the pamphlets and books all make it clear there can be other terms to the Engagement. That it might be about sex has pretty much remained an unspoken presumption, because obviously not all job offers will come as a boy-girl partnership. When you think about it, there aren't that many women with the power or position to offer a 7th year boy a really enticing career. And right now that's all so obvious its embarrassing. Before even Seamus can get out any kind of sexual innuendo, Ron's out of his seat and I have a bad bad feeling.  
  
"Zabini!" I'm right behind Ron as he chases after the Slytherins moving out of the Hall. I can't think of any way to stop him that won't make it worse. "Taking the proper death-eater part then?" he calls out. "The Slytherin boys' dorm turns out to be good training after all." They're not saying a thing, which is probably a sign of worse to come; just looking at Ron like he's a particularly ugly magical creature. "Pervert," he adds emphatically.  
  
"Mr Weasley."  
  
Christ. It had to be Snape. And right now, Ron can't be allowed to talk to Snape. "Professor, Ron and I are just leaving."  
  
Ron shakes off my hand, "Piss off, Harry."  
  
"Ten points from Gryffindor for language, Mr Weasley."  
  
Ron's muttered "Bastard" is just loud enough that he has to be caught.  
  
"And another ten. Would you like to try for detention, Mr Weasley? I'm sure Filch has a few appropriate tasks."  
  
Ron doesn't answer, but his fists are clenched. "Well?" Snape prods.  
  
"I'm just talking to Zabini."  
  
"As I have already observed." Snape's shoulders are thrown back and his chin raised - he's doing tall and polite, which is the most dangerous version of Professor Snape. The four Slytherin boys are silent, and not at all smirking. But there's a pleased anticipation about them and there's a small audience assembling, which Snape isn't sending away.  
  
"Pervert, Mr Weasley? This would mean you are not only imputing a sexual intent to the declaration from Dr Figg. . ." He looks for confirmation from Zabini, who inclines his head, "from Dr Figg, but you are maligning relationships between wizards. And here I was under the decided impression that such relationships were one of those topics on which your father repeatedly calls for tolerance." This is going to go downill really quickly if Snape starts talking about Ron's dad. "On and on about tolerance, really."  
  
"Don't you talk about. . ." I slap my hand roughly over Ron's mouth. He's pulling against me, but if I can hold him till Hermione gets here. . .  
  
"I think I will have to insist on an apology. Mr Potter, you will leave Mr Weasley to his own stupidity." I hang on. "Let him go, now." I have to, but Hermione's finally here, drawn with the expanding crowd. "Well, Mr Weasley?"  
  
"Fine." Ron spits. "I'm sorry Zabini's a pervert." The boy in question rolls his eyes, apparently unaffected. Hermione looks appalled, though I don't think Ron's noticed, and around us the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs also seem pretty unimpressed.  
  
Snape hardly seems taken aback either. "50 points from Gryffindor and a week's detention with me starting at 8 o'clock. And leave your hormones in the Gryffindor tower, Mr Weasley."  
  
He turns away down the hall with a flourish of his cloak. "Get to class all of you." 


	3. Public and Private Spheres

Declaro III: Public and Private Spheres  
  
The Gryffindor 7th years had decided it really must be some kind of death- eater brainwashing plot, because no one cared about anything else. Homework, Quidditch, clothes, the usual pastimes, suddenly mattered most as skills that might attract a declaration. They were clearly competing with each other though there was no obvious way Seamus' fabulous performance in Quidditch practice would convert into that kind of appreciation. People had even begun to add credit for style, given that there weren't enough new additions every day to make it a really exciting competition. A declaration sent to Padma Patil opened to a soft musical chord and the words "for padma" spelt out in lilac light in the air above her seat. Everyone else's now seemed ordinary by comparison and though the boys professed themselves unimpressed it spawned some fantastic plans for how they would do it. They didn't of course. Outside of Slytherin the students were addressed, but never approached anyone else. Declaring an interest in another student seemed a very Slytherin thing to do all of a sudden.  
  
Most declarations came for the boys. A heated common room debate decided that the anti-rite letters in the Prophet had clearly scored some points along the "seduction of minors" line. According to tradition, declarations were acceptable only in the autumn after one turned sixteen, and the obvious sexual implications were somewhat controversial, a moral ambiguity that seemed to apply more to girls than boys. The Patils and Lavender were furious, and reached some kind of accord with the Slytherin girls on a letter writing campaign which was firmly quashed by Snape. Hermione was torn between outrage at the double standard - everyone knew girls were maturer than boys at the same age anyway - and contempt for the whole arrangement. The few students openly opposed to the rite were no more interested than anyone else in Hermione's theories about "retrograde de- individualisation" so, like Harry, she was left on the edge of the drama.  
  
To be honest, Harry was as surprised as anyone else that his insistence on non-participation had actually meant he was left alone. There had been a tentative approach from the Prophet asking for his opinion, but his curt reply - I have no strong feelings but am not interested in participating - was not even published. Ron forgave Harry for whatever he had done as the week went by and he stayed outside it all. Seamus decided that Harry was making room for everyone else, and profusely thanked him every other day. And he was aware of his reaction being observed whenever Malfoy, Cho, or one of the other really popular students received another owl, but he couldn't have said exactly why. In fact, he was never quite sure after the new owls each weekday morning that he hadn't been waiting for something. It just somehow seemed that the rite didn't involve Harry Potter, and everyone seemed satisfied with that. Everyone else, anyway.  
  
* * *  
  
DEAN:  
  
The high point of every day, right now, is breakfast. Or, rather, the morning owls. We're all waiting, even those of us who say we aren't, to see what happens next.  
  
At the Slytherin table they're really discreet about it. Only sometimes, maybe if it's really worth boasting about and doesn't breach any walking on the dark side secrecy clause, you hear who exactly declared interest in Malfoy, Zabini, or Pansy Parkinson - their key players. Parkinson has her hair tied up in white ribbons today and, yeah I can say it, she's kind of pretty. Nasty bitch though.  
  
Really, Slytherin is made for this - you don't need a conspiracy theory to see that. All that guff about wealth and bloodlines and superior training that keeps their old rivalries going and sets them against everyone else; it's perfect. But who would have picked Ravenclaw as the house where everyone signed up? The upper end of Ravenclaw is a mass of green robes, and Cho Chang's the tiny queen. Maybe they think it's practical or efficient; another way of connecting the best minds? Who knew they were so full of schemes, though? Lavender says there's even a workshop to help compare possible offers. Which is just creepy.  
  
The Hufflepuffs aren't really interested, just polite. Warm congratulations all round and never much gossip. They did come up with the pool of robes, so people who couldn't afford one could borrow, which only offended Ron more - and how off the deep end is he? Two chairs down from me he's shredding bread into little piles and looking red. He'll be off before the owls come. I told Seamus we should put him under Imperius and just make him send a declaration to Hermione. She'll pick him, he'll stop exploding without warning and sulking in between, and we can all enjoy it more. Yep, there goes Ron. Knocks over a chair, mutters sorry but won't look up, storms to the door. Idiot.  
  
Hermione says the Gryffindors are all just showing off. Definitely looking forward to the more competitive bits, I guess. Except Harry. He's watching Ron leave, being really quiet about it all. Maybe we do want to be in the spotlight, doing things first and best. And not really into discretion. Everyone knows everything about the Gryffindor declarations. I've got one, thankfully. Be right embarrassing to get all dressed up and have none: girl I asked to a dance last year, works at the Ministry and her father knows my dad. She only said, "I know we'd make a great team", but at least I got one.  
  
"They're coming," someone says from further up the table. The Prophet's got a new addition to its social pages today, the comprehensive "who's who and who wants who in this year's Rite of Engagement". The owls bring them in as the first plates disappear. Lots of shiny blue wrappers. Must be heaps of new subscribers cause I'm sure there aren't usually so many owls. I'll have to add that to Ron's list of conspiracies. Bunting drops my copy, and a letter, into a half-full plate of rolls, rocketing one into Harry's teacup and onto his neighbour.  
  
"Dean!" she shouts. "Sorry Ginny." Stupid owl.  
  
* * *  
  
GINNY:  
  
Dean gives me this stupid grin, as if I'm not covered in tea. Harry apologises and casts a cleaning charm. Harry always bends the rules for nice reasons, not just to be an arse like Fred and George. Hermione didn't notice - she can be such a prude - cause she's still thinking about my other stupid brother Ron. I love them, you know, of course. But when something really matters, well they're hopeless. And my parents. Percy tells me I'm not supposed to sit with the 7th years, as if anyone cares, and Mum just will not hear about the Engagement, even though I promised I would save up for my own robes. Not that it matters, cause there's only one person I want to declare anything to and it has to be this year or not at all. I'm holding my breath every day against there being an owl for him and I've got no idea what's wrong with people that they can't see that Harry is so much more interesting and kind and gorgeous than that git Malfoy - who is so evil - or Dean Thomas and his clumsy owl. Not that I want anyone to, I guess, but it's infuriating.  
  
And the most frustrating thing is it's the perfect opportunity. I've read the section in the Guide and I borrowed Hetty Sage's Ministry pamphlet too, but I have to be sure. Hermione might help, but she would tell Ron, or worse Harry. I know there's no one else. Hermione's in love with Ron, everyone knows though who knows why, and he never even liked her that way and there's no one else. If it's allowed. if I can get Mum and Dad to see that it's just a really wizarding way to date. And if I'm not allowed then it's definitely an evil plot. And they'd never approach the Hero-of-the- Wizarding-World, who's still just a really sweet guy, and sometimes I think he's just going to see. . .  
  
* * *  
  
Harry pulled his books from under the table. Twelve minutes to make the library before first period. Though, shit, probably not. Level 7 Charms: Persuasion and Illusion was clearly dripping tea, and definitely stuck to N.E.W.T.s Potions Primer #2, and to this.  
  
"What's that?" Hermione asked at his shoulder.  
  
"Huh. One of those pamphlets on the rite. I bet it's Ginny's. Think Ron'll understand?"  
  
"Let's not find out."  
  
She left him at the bottom of the stairwell. As no one was looking, and he'd never got the chance before, Harry discreetly glanced at the leaflet for the "young wizard or witch interested in the Rite of Engagement".  
  
* * *  
  
It's a significant time in your life and brilliant fun as well, and the Rite of Engagement is a time-honoured way to find your place in wizarding society. We know you have many questions, but here is some basic information to get you started.  
  
Ten frequently asked questions - the answers you need:  
  
1. Who can participate in the Rite of Engagement? Any wizard or witch, in the season after they turn sixteen.  
  
2. What is an Engagement? Technically: a wizarding contract with a youth and his/her representatives, for a period of at least three years of protection and advancement to the mutual advantage of all parties.  
  
3. What does that mean? What can an Engagement offer me? Career opportunities, training and mentorship, friendship, financial and personal support, alliances and business opportunities, travel, experience of the world, and even romance!  
  
4. Who might offer me one? Any wizard or witch can offer to negotiate an Engagement with you, as long as they can fulfil what they offer you. The Ministry protects you in this with a wizarding contract.  
  
5. Do I have to accept? You can remove a supplicant from your list at any time, or decide not to make any Engagement at all. You're under no obligation.  
  
6. Can I change my mind afterwards? The contract is binding, and any decision should be taken carefully and in consultation.  
  
7. Is an Engagement a form of marriage? Long ago the Engagement was a kind of marriage. But for you it's a chance to find your place in the world with the direct support of a partner who will become a lifelong friend.  
  
8. Why didn't my parents do this? The recent difficult conflict has meant wizards needed to focus on preservation. In a new period of stability the Wizarding Revival hopes to bring back our rich traditional culture.  
  
9. How do I become involved? This pamphlet sets out the traditional steps of the Rite, from the declaration in early Autumn, through different stages of presentation and negotiation, to an engagement at mid-Summer. You begin by accepting a declaration of interest, or you making your own.  
  
10. Who will help me decide? Talk to your parents or guardians, who will usually be involved at every stage. The Department of Wizarding Youth can also help if you need independent counsel.  
  
[By M. Vermeel, Wizarding Revival, in association with the Department of Wizarding Youth. Level 2, 1107 Diagon Alley, London WWC1. Floo: "Wizarding Revival".]  
  
* * *  
  
RON:  
  
"I'm done, Professor." As usual he doesn't look at me.  
  
He doesn't look at the clock. "Sort that box of index cards."  
  
I tip out the cards indexing dried animal parts, ugh, and began to make alphabetical piles. "By phylum, genus and species."  
  
This was the last night. Snape-free evenings. Snape-free evenings of rite gossip. A particularly vigorous toss sends the whole pile cascading to the floor. Shit. He will not make me lose it and get another week.  
  
"Mr Weasley." Snape leans back in his chair, running the quill thoughtfully through his fingers. "You realise you must apologise to Mr Zabini?"  
  
Fine. "All right," I say. And the bastard just sits there looking at me, knowing I know what he wants me to say. He taps the fucking quill against the edge of his book. I start resorting the cards so I won't have to look at him. But he's still waiting. "I didn't mean it that way." Stupid cordata, stupid nematoda, stupid something-starting-with-a.  
  
"'Pervert' is obviously open to interpretation," he says in a snide voice.  
  
"I wasn't really angry about that." Sigh, there's no avoiding it. "I don't think that."  
  
"So detention ends," he says, "and tomorrow you go back and alienate your friends a little more."  
  
At that I can't help but look up. He's leaning on the desk, looking at me like. like I'm amusing. Fucking bastard. "I didn't." Real smooth, Ron.  
  
"Yes you did; you are," he replies. "As a rule the staff are neither blind nor stupid." He has to hesitate or he won't be snarky bastard Snape, and the world will collapse. "As a rule."  
  
"It's some death-eater thing, isn't it? Why is Dumbledore just letting it happen? They're. . . they're all fucking obsessed!" And I've walked right into another detention.  
  
"Quite."  
  
Bastard. "What?"  
  
"As you say, they are all obsessed. Leave the cards Weasley, it's clearly beyond you." My hands are kind of hovering, unsure whether to put them back or just get out now.  
  
"Let's assume you're not an idiot, shall we?" he continues. I can't afford to agree or disagree with that. "It can't be stopped, or the Headmaster would have done so, don't you think?" Nodding seems safe, though the idea that I'm having a conversation with Snape is. . . "And thus?" he pauses, but I've no idea. . . "I'm waiting on a response here, Weasley, the extended pause is usually a clue."  
  
"You're saying I have to put up with it."  
  
"I'm saying nothing so insipid." I don't think I have a clue what he's talking about. Or if I do that's so disconcerting I wish I didn't. "You can go," he finally says.  
  
"I don't know that stuff and there's no time," though I'm not sure why I'm protesting this to him. "I can't afford the training or tutoring and. . ."  
  
"You know what's next?"  
  
"I've read the book. I am not stupid," I say, because I'm not. He gives me a sarcastic look. "There's two more weeks of declaration," I count it off on my hand, "and then they move onto gifts and demonstrations. I've already lost."  
  
"Actual homework, Weasley. You may give me false expectations."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"How might a person," he interrupts, "who doesn't extensive financial resources but is in fact a student at Hogwarts get tutoring in magical feats or assistance with magical gifts?"  
  
"I can't ask. even staff - it's embarrassing."  
  
"Only the very young and the very stupid can afford that kind of pride."  
  
"As if you would help me if I asked you to. I can do with out the extra humiliation."  
  
"I am utterly confident the situation will never arise."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"You've claimed not to be stupid, so I'm sure you'll work it out."  
  
"You think that."  
  
"I didn't imply I needed your company while you worked it out. Your detention is over."  
  
At the door I need a reality check. "So if I did ask you to tutor me, would you do it?"  
  
"I'm sure we'll never know," he says.  
  
I can only nod. That's confusing enough to be consistent. But, "You have some angle on this," I suggest  
  
"Assuredly." Fine. "Don't forget the apology." So I nod. Why not.  
  
* * *  
  
RON:  
  
Some complicated spell makes Zabini's latest appear as a fiery portrait over the Slytherin breakfast table. It hisses, "Dear Mr Zabini", and with a shiver I realise it sounds like Snape. Pretty impressive spell though. It presents the air with a parchment.  
  
"Zabini." "Weasley."  
  
They're all looking at me. Probably the staff table, definitely the whole 7th year. "I'm sorry," I say. "About before."  
  
The Slytherins eye Zabini expectantly, and I clearly have to give something more. In the corner of my eye I can see Hermione standing at our table, keeping an eye on me. Hermione. "I was being a dick."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So. . . good luck with the fire guy." He smirks at me and then at Millicent Bulstrode, who seems convinced the illusion is doing her ornamental sleeve some kind of harm. You've got to laugh.  
  
I brush past Draco, adjusting his clothes again, vain twit, in a better mood than the whole term so far, and towards my friends. Where Ginny is appalled, Hermione looks concerned, Harry looks panicked, and by the time I get to our table it's obviously not about me. A white owl is insistently shoving something in Harry's direction. 


	4. The Fool

Declaro IV: The Fool  
  
Harry knew he was insecure and secretive; he could concede that Hermione was uptight and self-important; and no one would deny Ron's blind bad temper, but they'd been best friends for seven years. So it was a given that they wouldn't just joke in the common room about Harry's declaration. They were on Harry's bed with the crimson curtains partially drawn, and he held the scroll like it might explode. Tied with a white ribbon.  
  
"Do you reckon it's a death-eater, or just a Voldemort sympathiser?" Hermione tutted, but Ron had said it with a smile and suddenly it just seemed kind of funny. "Well - go on," he said.  
  
It opened without any special effects. Vellum. Black ink. Signed. . . "Karkaroff!" I exclaim.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Headmaster Igor Karkaroff." I say it again, looking at the page. "Oh, no way."  
  
"C'mon, read it," Ron said.  
  
"I can't. I mean, Karkaroff?"  
  
"Oh give it here." Hermione said, grabbing it from Harry. "He has nice penmanship."  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
"Ok.  
  
//Dear Mr. Harry Potter,  
  
I impinge upon our brief acquaintance during the 1995 Wizarding tournament//"  
  
"Well I don't think it's the romantic kind of offer, Harry."  
  
"Shut up Ron."  
  
". . . and take leave to address you on the matter of the Rite of Engagement."  
  
"Didn't take long for the word to get around."  
  
"They are wizards, Ron," Hermione said with an eye roll.  
  
"Yeah," Harry added, "and Karkaroff's not a death-eater anymore, remember." "Well, you know my policy: once a death-eater, always a prisoner in Azkhaban."  
  
Hermione turned back to the letter. "On behalf of my daughter Anna Karakaroff"  
  
"Oh," Harry says with relief, "a daughter." Hermione glared at him. "Sorry."  
  
"//I would like to declare her interest in negotiating an Engagement with you.  
  
Anna Vincenza Karkaroff is 19 years old and has just commenced an apprenticeship in Charms at Beauxbaton, France. We believe that you and Anna will have many common interests, and that many mutual benefits will arise from such an alliance. The possibility of a teaching apprenticeship and proximity to European Quidditch tournaments will perhaps be attractive to you.  
  
For further information I refer you to your Professor Severus Snape, who has met Anna on several occasions, and for testimony concerning our family interests to your Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  
  
You may well be interested in Anna's appearance as well as her character, and we trust that the attached image does not contravene the current conventions of the rite. I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience that you agree to receive our tokens in advance of any formal offers and meetings.  
  
Sincerely yours,  
  
Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster//  
  
That's it."  
  
Ron was speechless, disapproving, and grabbing the letter all at the same time. "Let's see the picture."  
  
"Ron!" Hermione moved so only Harry could reach it. "You okay, Harry?"  
  
"Karkaroff wants me to marry his daughter."  
  
"Well. . ." she said.  
  
"I'm sixteen!"  
  
Hermione said calmly, "He doesn't say marry - I think that would be very unusual."  
  
"Aren't you at least going to look at the picture?" Ron asked eagerly.  
  
"Well what am I supposed to do with her then?" Harry asked, getting as far from the offending letter as possible, which unfortunately put him in clear view of the Gryffindor senior common room.  
  
"Who's it from Harry?" Dean asked.  
  
"Is it a good one?" one of the other boys threw out.  
  
"Of course it's a good one!"  
  
"Not now, ok Dean?" He tried to stand somewhere out of sight that was still far from the bed, and crossed his arms, and lent against the wall, and screwed up his face.  
  
Ron made a more surreptitious grab for the page. "Harry you don't know what they mean yet. First you say you're interested, they send presents, then a detailed offer, and then you meet her, and then you negotiate all the fine print. Only if you go all the way."  
  
Hermione glared. "Since when do you know all about it? The last time you were speaking to anyone you couldn't stand to have it mentioned." Ron blushed easily.  
  
"A week of nights with Snape will change a man. . ."  
  
"What if I don't want to do any of it?" Harry asked. "I never asked to meet her. She's probably all Durmstrang and horrid."  
  
"You can always just decline." Hermione points out.  
  
"You can at least see her picture." Ron.  
  
Harry paced over to the window, but Seamus or someone was in the hall keeping an eye out. "Fine, open the picture." Hermione got out her wand.  
  
"And what happened with Snape?" she asked.  
  
* * *  
  
RON:  
  
The odds on Hermione being in the library when she doesn't have a class are pretty good. I duck Madame Pince because I have a book due back today, and nod to Snape coming down from the restricted section with his arms full of folios. And that's weird. Snape and I doing resentful tolerance. He was shitting me, I'm sure, but pretty decent in his own way. I was over- reacting. Actually, while it really is deeply suspicious it's also kind of funny watching every one run around frantically trying to measure up and work it out. Harry - that was so funny, he's so angsty about it all.  
  
Hermione's not in her favourite corner and not in the quiet section where she concentrates. Have to ask Pince. And Finch-Fletchley, this morning, that was hilarious. His declaration exploded into a swarm of bees - that hummed to him! What kind of person thinks that's inviting?  
  
"Mr Weasley." Snape. Looming.  
  
"Professor."  
  
"As I doubt you're here for any other reason than to locate Miss Granger, you will need the archives. Through the green baize doors to the right."  
  
"Um. Thanks." I reply, probably sounding as puzzled as I am by his help.  
  
"No pass needed as the archives contain only information, and thus no students." That might be a residual smile, in the way that you have residual organs, or it might be a sneer. It's been a minute already and I haven't lost points, but people are noticing. I try the grin.  
  
"You seem to have recovered your insipid joviality," he adds. "No more angst-ridden feelings of incompetence?"  
  
"You would use that against me."  
  
"Leaving just the reasonable and justified feelings of incompetence, then?"  
  
Millicent Bullstrode interrupts for something sucky and Slytherin and I duck off.  
  
"Hey Mione." She smiles at me. "God, Snape. I'll never figure him."  
  
"You know," she says, right down to business, "I'm starting to think you were right? Come and look at this." 'This' is a stack of open books, papers, newspapers, file boxes.  
  
"Right about what, exactly?" I have a bad feeling much study is involved.  
  
"I think the Rite's a fraud. It did exist, in lots of forms, but. . . Here where they have the green robes it's a coming of age ritual at midsummer, and here about three centuries later they have the different robes for different stages and it's only a series of dances held at Hogwarts and a couple of other schools. You don't think it's all designed to sell more robes, do you?" Hermione's in research mode and thrilled, her eyes flashing. "And the whole declaration and offer part, that was added in the 18th century, something about reconstruction of property, and doesn't really last long. Someone's just gone through these books, or books like these, and made the whole thing up."  
  
"That's great, Mione. But hadn't we decided that if it's not hurting anyone. . ?" She gives me a skeptical look. "I know I was last to come round to that but - does it really matter?"  
  
"Look." Oh no, she's handing me evidence. "Here's where they get the green robes and the midsummer festival, but they leave out all the coming of age part - you know, independence. Instead your parents set you up with someone or some job, for years. . ."  
  
"Would we really have any idea about the right people to work with?" I ask, but Hermione's obviously a lot surer than me about that. "Well I wouldn't."  
  
I'm not exactly being supportive undeclared-boyfriend here, so I concede - "But yeah I would know who I want to be with, in the other sense. That way." Which is a bit direct for us, so I check out the picture of robed boys dancing, which is actually kind of neat.  
  
"And you were dead right about the way it keeps all the rich families together. In fact, I found, but." She trails off to test my interest and I could plead practice. But after the last week or two I guess I owe her this and pull up a chair.  
  
"So who's behind it then?" I ask.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry's plan is pretty simple. Get an early breakfast and go out to Hagrid's, thereby avoiding Hermione's crusade. There are buttons again: "Live Your Life." Sure. And leaflets on finding out your rights. But the endless talk about it is draining and today she wants a major "push", whatever that means. Right after Ron's trauma, and now Sirius has put off his visit, and Harry just can't deal with it right now. Hagrid will need help.  
  
The common room's empty, though someone's been up. The Fat Lady says good morning rather more loudly than he wants. Maybe he should take the cloak, but that would make it obvious he's escaping.  
  
He's not first to the Gryffindor table, but the group of younger students won't talk to Harry Potter - there are moments when that works out. There's also scrambled eggs. Though he's concentrating on the food he can't help but notice when the Slytherins come in. They're probably on weekend leave for the Rite, because it's all the 7th years except Davis, who isn't participating. Yet. Harry's not quite sure if he counts himself as participating. Or what he should say to Karkaroff. Which is where Sirius was supposed to help. Probably he should let it move on to some more polite point to turn her down. Or was it the father he'd be offending? It's crazy to think some strange girl. yeah.  
  
Secretly, Harry likes the green robes - they're attractive and less uniform because, well, people have different bodies and the closer fit. shows that. Malfoy definitely looks good. It's such a stark contrast; the tailored black shoulders and his white blonde hair and pale angular face. He's definitely lived up to the whole sex symbol thing he was already working on at thirteen. Malfoy laughs across the room and catches Harry's eye briefly with that kind of thin crooked smile that's a bit less hard than the smirk of earlier years. Of course they've both changed; but the Malfoy-Potter thing was law in 1st year and habit by 4th. Harry flicks his eyes down as Draco looks up. There probably wasn't any contact, although he may have noticed. Harry leaves the rest of the food because he suddenly feels rather funny, and decides to make the run for Hagrid. He's intersected right away by Professor Vector, though, with a story about the new arithmantic profiling of a Quidditch broom. Harry makes the right noises and smiles in the right places, but he really has the urge to be out today. When she says she must be off now he thanks her warmly.  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
"Potter." And, joy, another tense exchange where we'll cast a few pretty empty barbs and then saunter off to opposite corners. Or, Malfoy will sweep off, and I'll do whatever I do. He's even got the costume now. "Potter!"  
  
He catches up to me just as I turn back and, as close as I've been in seven years, I see his hair is different, longer and a bit loose, with waves that set off the tiny vertical stripes in the robe. It's too precise not to be intentional. "Draco."  
  
And, great, now I've called him that. He gives me a look and checks who's behind him - at least, there's a little look back over his shoulder that you'd never see if you weren't so close, almost face to face. "What is it?"  
  
"Are you going into Hogsmeade?" he asks.  
  
"To Hagrid's," I reply automatically. "Why?"  
  
"Well, we are. Zabini and Pansy and I. The others are flooing home."  
  
"Oh." And this conversation must be going somewhere.  
  
There's a breath and he says, "I thought if you were going too, we could walk in together."  
  
"Right." I drawl it in as Malfoy a way as I can. "Why would we do that?"  
  
"Just curious. You know, all of this," he gestures down along his robes. "Besides. . ."  
  
I bark a laugh. "Let me guess. It's been seven years and we're growing up and getting out, and you just want to be friends, right?"  
  
He laughs. "Well, I'm curious."  
  
In the corner of my eye the Slytherins are watching us carefully. I'd walk off right now if Draco wasn't being so. watchful, and I'd like to know why. "And your Slytherins," I gesture to them, though I don't think they could tell, "what do they think you're doing?"  
  
He tilts his head to the main door, and we walk out into the morning sun on the path. I want to be gone before Hermione comes down, but I have to know now. He leans against the stone lion as if he's been practicing it for months. Easy, while I'm tense. There are too many changes this year. "I'm pumping you for information, of course: who sent you the dec., what are the Gryffindork tactics; it's all very strategic."  
  
"And is that what you're doing?"  
  
"Of course. Partly. But they're fools," there's that something almost nervous again before he looks away. "We've got no control here."  
  
"You should talk to Hermione; she's drawing up a list of who and why." Speaking of whom. "We can walk down toward the lake if you want, but let's do it now. I'm trying to avoid Hermione's project today." Crap. "Which, Malfoy, you won't tease her about."  
  
He makes some kind of gesture to Zabini and walks off. Of course, they're following his instructions, how naive of me. "Malfoy? I quite liked 'Draco'".  
  
"Where are we going with this Malfoy?"  
  
"Want to trade information?" he says casually.  
  
"On?"  
  
"All this Rite shit."  
  
"You're not keen?" I'm a bit surprised. It's all very Malfoy.  
  
He gives me a scornful look. "Would I be doing this if I was?"  
  
"No idea. I don't trust you at all."  
  
"Course not. If you were that stupid I'd hardly be talking to you."  
  
Right. We walk, and despite that we're not talking.  
  
I've seen Malfoy in the sun, but never quite like this. It highlights and shadows the lines of his robes, and his hair is brilliant. But his face is pale, thin, almost sickly. Although it still works. And I've no idea right now what the looking at him is about. All this uncertainty, I guess. Malfoy is a constant, after all. I try to relax and he gives me that not really a smirk, like he knows - so, what the hell. "It's really very you," I offer.  
  
"What, the inexplicable, unseen and pervasive threat?"  
  
"Actually, I meant they really suit you," indicating the robes, "but the other too, maybe."  
  
There's no mistaking the next smile; it's just sly. I manage to suppress the blush, I think. "You should get some. This colour would be great on you." He really laughs at my expression, tipping his head back till the sun hits his throat - and ok now I'm plain obsessing on the way he looks. I know I don't have that kind of style.  
  
". . . and you really want to have a set before the blue ones come out," he's saying; "or the white."  
  
"White?"  
  
He comically shudders.  
  
"Don't worry," I reply, "I won't get stuck with blue robes. I'm really not planning on being involved."  
  
He stops at that. "Really?"  
  
"Why would I? You know, boy-who-lived? Really had more than enough of being a commodity up for negotiation, or a name in the paper."  
  
"OK. but I'm not sure it's going to be an option, Harry." He runs a hand through his hair and looks around. We're most of the way to the lake, and mostly concealed from the castle by trees on one side. "I've got to go. They'll be curious. Never good." He moves backwards away from me until he could probably be seen from the front doors. "Meet me tonight? We can talk."  
  
"No. It's not. . . We don't do this Malfoy."  
  
He's already leaving, saying, "I'll meet you outside Hagrid's at sunset."  
  
"No. No way. I am not running round the grounds with a Slytherin. In the dark. Alone."  
  
"Then I'll meet you at the doors, at sunset," he says, with just a hint of urgency.  
  
"Curfew," I reply.  
  
"Bring your cloak."  
  
And then he's gone, walking quickly to the castle, though you couldn't tell he was hurrying now if you didn't know. There are people about, so I keep on towards Hagrid's, running through that very weird conversation in my head. Hoping no one asks.  
  
And who is he kidding? I was that foolish a few years ago, but I've wanted to keep on living and learnt a few things.  
  
Doesn't mean I don't want to know what Draco's game is. 


	5. The Knight's Tale

Declaro V: The Knight's Tale  
  
It took Harry ten minutes to convince himself that meeting Malfoy was the stupidest thing he could do. By the time he'd had tea and avoided cake with Hagrid, and listened to a very detailed story about the possibilities of miniature swamp dragons as familiars, according to a fellow Hagrid met in the pub, he knew he had to do it. Once they'd prepared the pen for a baby hippogriff and washed up, he'd come to his senses again.  
  
He would keep an eye on Malfoy. He blushed at the thought and then again at being so stupid. So he thought Malfoy was sexy - just him and the entire school. He'd heard the girls in Gryffindor on the subject many times. Hermione thought it was ironic. Angel-Draco she'd called him for several months in 5th year after they'd ambushed him with snowballs: his cool glare in pale fur against the stark white. . . and fuck he was getting hard over Malfoy. . . over a snowball fight with Malfoy. He definitely hadn't then. One of their first joint aggressive spells and they'd showered Malfoy in snow, and when he pushed off the fur hood there was snow on his nose above a sort of snow cloak with bits of blond fur sticking through. Ron had collapsed laughing, and while they were distracted Malfoy got out his wand and tipped a whole broomshed roof of snow onto them. Trapped under the largest heap, Seamus had a sprained wrist and had to be dug out by his friends. He remembered Ron shouting himself hoarse as Malfoy walked off, scattering snow. He remembered that cold smile. His face felt hot. Under cover of hanging up the towel, and with one eye on Hagrid putting on the kettle, he adjusted himself uncomfortably. Think of something else. Angel- Draco. Ron said he looked more like an angry polar teddy bear, an evil one, but it wasn't as catchy.  
  
"You all right there Harry?" Hagrid asks.  
  
"Uh," he shook himself and turned to the window for cover. "Wondering when it will snow." Which apparently didn't seem strange to Hagrid as he launched into a story Harry could hardly hear for the blood rushing in his head. He was all right; he was fine. So Malfoy was attractive - just a fact which hadn't been relevant to Harry till now. Maybe he should be concerned, and Ron and Hermione would be appalled, but it didn't feel like even a very shocking revelation. He wasn't about to throw himself into Malfoy's arms. Hell, even Snape was attractive if you thought about it objectively, but he wasn't about to mention that to anyone either.  
  
"Cocoa then, Harry?" he adds with a broad grin.  
  
Just before sunset, Harry thought he better go. Hagrid asked him for supper and offered to send a message, but there was Hermione to find and apologise to. This brought up the topic of the year, and Hagrid wasn't particularly concerned. Dumbledore would do something about it, if need be.  
  
"It's still mostly that way with giants, Harry," he says. "Always the old ways, when they marry at all." Harry put down the mug of what Hagrid thought was cocoa before it ended up doing something unpleasant to the rug. "And centaurs. If memory serves, it's a centaur thing. You tell Hermione to look that up. Much more into learning than what you'd call romance. Not what you'd call tender, centaurs." He gave Harry a sad look, "or giants."  
  
It was just dark by the time Harry had cheered Hagrid sufficiently to leave, which meant he'd finished the chocolate and definitely wouldn't need to eat. Hagrid insisted on walking him until they were on the path to the front doors.  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
He's not here.  
  
The sun's quite down now, and there's only moonlight on the lake - a bright silver sheet. I'd never seen anything like it when I first came to Hogwarts. That seems a long time ago, and I guess it was. House elves are lighting the torches in their almost invisible way. I used to think it was done with magic. And he's not coming. It's annoying, even though I never intended to meet him. Surprising too, because you think he'd show up just to taunt me for being that gullible. Which I'm not.  
  
Inside the table settings are already there, along with small clusters of students - younger ones for the most part, cause the habit of rushing down or in for dinner takes a while to develop. And there, he's leaning on the wall by the cloakroom door as if it was what Draco Malfoy did all the time.  
  
He rolls his eyes in an irritated way as if I'm late. I guess I am, if I was planning to be here. I could leave. I could tell him it's just a coincidence, which is the truth, but it would sound like I couldn't admit that I wanted to see him. And now I'm confusing myself.  
  
Malfoy heads this way and I automatically check the stairs and doors as if this was a rendezvous for the exchange of life-threatening information. I've actually had a few of those and have to laugh at taking it all so seriously - until I see Zabini on the upper right landing. If Draco's concerned about who might see us, and I have no idea if he should be, he'll notice my look. He doesn't seem to, and this is hardly a secret location. but I keep looking at Zabini, who just as clearly looks back. Draco walks right past me.  
  
So, obviously, we're not meant to be seen, and I'm kind of relieved because I don't want to explain why I'm talking to Malfoy to anyone who would ask. I go to the Gryffindor table with one eye on Zabini. Some lower level students I vaguely recognise look at me nervously. I could go upstairs, meet the others, and never get away from them; sit at the table and hope for a chance to leave before they arrive, which won't happen; or just leave, making it obvious I don't care who's watching. Only that last option gets me outside with Draco, which is clearly what I want.  
  
I shouldn't have been late. He should have been outside rather than inside - he's a Slytherin for fuck's sake. He thought I wasn't coming.  
  
Just at the door I have this strange heavy feeling, and my left arm suddenly feels hot and, about the wrist, kind of tingly. It doesn't happen often and, as with the other times, it takes a second to recognise the sensation. Terrible timing. But it means I can't muck about any longer. Draco is standing to the right of the door, slightly out of the light.  
  
"Draco," it comes out a bit more sharply than I want. "I have to go."  
  
* * *  
  
Albus Dumbledore only ever called unplanned meetings of the Order of the Phoenix for the most urgent matters. He'd hesitated this time, but the nature of the threat this time meant it might never look truly urgent until it was too late. The call had gone out a little less than half an hour ago, which meant members who could respond would be here any minute, some by floo and some from within the castle itself.  
  
Albus smiled. . . at least Harry would be pleased.  
  
* * *  
  
Sirius Black looked down at his godson, though even less down than last time. "Harry," he said, "you look great - and I made it to Hogwarts after all."  
  
"It's wonderful to see you, Sirius," Harry replied.  
  
The boy took his usual chair. "And we'll talk afterwards?" he asked.  
  
"Of course," Sirius replied, "now I'm here."  
  
"Severus, come in my boy. I trust you're somewhat rested?" Snape acknowledged Dumbledore's greeting but didn't look rested. Meetings of the Order were often called on some new intelligence from Snape, and Harry had watched him bleed, retch, and struggle to breathe through several of them. Tonight he just looked tired. Really tired. Though he seemed to have a new fuzzy lens for every male between puberty and, well, Dumbledore, he couldn't make Snape look sexy right now. Sirius, perhaps, clean cut and in new leather - although the thought was rather off-putting - but Snape looked ill. The potions professor folded himself into his chair, chin against one hand, long fingers loose against his face under his hair, and closed his eyes. Actually, Harry might have to take that back. He did look. he must remember to curse Draco for this new and interesting life.  
  
There were only six of them tonight. Arthur Weasley arrived last, ruffling Harry's hair has he passed. Snape huffed silently and glared at the ceiling. "Severus," the Headmaster finally said, "shall we begin?"  
  
"I returned this evening from Malfoy Manor," Harry managed not to register any surprise at yet another Malfoy encounter in his day, "and a meeting which confirms the suspicions entertained by many of us that the Wizarding Revival is working in support of Voldemort." Harry definitely had to have another of those 'I am not a child' speeches with Dumbledore and Sirius. "Vermeel was there, and Agnes Rookwood, as we expected, and St Claire, as perhaps some of us did not." Sirius perceptibly stiffened. "Lucius directed Vermeel to contact specific families about arranging social events as part of the Rite of Engagement; implied that he had been in contact with Voldemort, although he may have been embellishing to impress the new recruit;" here he glanced with a hint of satisfaction at Sirius, "and issued us with a range of instructions for our participation."  
  
"And.?" Sirius managed to sound both frustrated and bored. "So they're using old history books, having tea with Malfoy, and setting up a few parties. I trust there's more?"  
  
Snape shifted in his seat and, although it was a small movement, both McGonagall and Dumbledore shifted too. Harry figured it for a gesture of support and obviously tea with Lucius Malfoy, however drawn out, wouldn't exhaust Severus Snape. "Malfoy appears to be in charge. He insists - I would have to say very adamantly - that no material links between the Revival and the Death Eaters are found. Selina Turpin apparently stated at a Ministry party that the Revival wanted only pureblood wizards in the Rite." Arthur nodded. "She was punished for that indiscretion today. Cruciatus is harsh for such a slip, even for Lucius, but the example was set. People will take care."  
  
"And are the objectives of all this at all any clearer?" Professor McGonagall asked.  
  
"Vermeel was voluble on the Rite's success, though he didn't comment on its use to the Dark Lord. He said mostly what we know - it exploits often ignored desires and insecurities among the young and the ambitions of families. It's unpredictable for recruitment, but promotes traditionalism. I could draw some further suppositions."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "If you wouldn't mind, Severus."  
  
"I think," and it clearly went somehow against the grain to make such untested assertions, "that Hogwarts is the principle target, you in particular Headmaster, and probably this Order. Rather than break down its wards the aim seems to be to undermine Hogwarts' importance, as a guardian of wizarding culture and as necessary to its education."  
  
Sirius snorted, "It'll never work."  
  
"If the Rite continues to be so popular," Arthur offered, "and generally conducted outside the schools, there may be some cause for concern. Not," he added when Sirius went to interject, "that Hogwarts would be under threat, for years at least, but we currently have two leaders - the Minister and the Headmaster here - only one of which is not subject to political change. If a Vermeel was as influential. . . ."  
  
"It's a fashion, for Circe's sake!" Sirius exclaimed. "Like high boots with a wand pocket, remember Albus?"  
  
Arthur Weasley interrupted gently."The Ministry has today established a well funded Department for the Preservation of Wizarding Culture and Artefacts. I don't think it's a coincidence."  
  
"There also was a time before Hogwarts," Albus added. "The private tutoring system is not an unthinkable addition to the list of things the Revival want to 'revive'. Actually, closely linked to the Rite at one time." He took a breath and, in response, Fawkes shifted and opened a bright eye. "I expect we need to move backward to go forward in this."  
  
"We bring the Rite into the school then?" Minerva guessed.  
  
Albus nodded and Snape looked unsurprised, but the others were uncertain.  
  
"If the plan is to marginalise us then we stay central," Dumbledore explained. "The curriculum can accommodate several parts of the Revival attractive to the general wizarding community. It will also allow us to influence some outcomes. Arthur you will place this before the Minister?" Arthur nodded.  
  
Sirius seemed the least convinced. "I can't see how this. politics," he spat the word out, "is the Order's business. Or even a Death Eater thing. What happened to sneaking round in the dark wearing hoods and murdering Muggles in their beds?"  
  
Snape gave a sardonic grin, "I'll lodge your suggestion, shall I?"  
  
"Actually," Harry said, "this is a lot more Slytherin." Snape looked at him sharply. "Not that I'm accusing the house in general, just observing that for a man who wants to be the Heir of Slytherin Voldemort rarely relies on strategy, at least not recently."  
  
"It's clearly a Lucius plan," Snape conceded, "with both long and short term goals. Some not inconsiderable influence over futures and alliances. . . easy prediction of movements. . . in the medium term the practice of bonding might be added to the Engagement, and thus give some direct control. . ."  
  
"I hardly think that a modern witch or wizard. . ." Arthur began, "but then I may have said that about Engagement as well."  
  
"These are suppositions, possibilities," Snape continued. "I'm sure Lucius has thought of them. It is, as Mr Potter points out, very Slytherin."  
  
"Is he bluffing about Voldemort?" Harry asked.  
  
Snape gave Harry a rather more sympathetic look and moved awkwardly in the chair. "Today he was. . . powerful. There are amplification spells, but he clearly had some power over the dark mark."  
  
Harry added, nervously - "If he were physically hosting Voldemort?"  
  
"I've considered it," the Professor conceded. "Lucius wouldn't willingly give up that kind of control and he seems - Lucius. There's no insanity that isn't his usual kind, and he is keeping Malfoy interests first." Harry noticed Snape's hesitation, but perhaps anyone else except Dumbledore would miss it. "There's one more thing. All Death Eaters at liberty to do so are required to participate in the Rite. Our offers are to be credible, as public as possible, and successful. Some have quite specific instructions as to who should be approached and with what."  
  
"Even you?" Sirius said with a laugh, and Snape's expression communicated both his disdain and an answer. "Merlin, that's the funniest thing. . . who's the lucky boy, Snape?"  
  
"Sirius." Albus gave what would pass for a stern look. "We can leave the particular. . ."  
  
"Karkaroff!" Harry exclaimed. They all looked at him. "Would Karkaroff also be, you know, making declarations because he has to? Even if he wants them to fail?"  
  
"You won't have to put many of those Slytherin skills to the test Snape," Sirius laughed. "Getting rejected shouldn't be too hard."  
  
"Sirius!"  
  
"Wouldn't you pay to see Snape try and romance a student? Minerva," he laughed again, "you can't tell me you don't. . ."  
  
Professor McGonagall crisply cut him off - "Really, Sirius!"  
  
"I'm sorry!" Harry said as loudly as he could without quite shouting, "but could someone answer me?" And there was a pause. "Is Karkaroff making phony offers?"  
  
Snape got it first and seemed shocked. "Igor wouldn't. . . In any case. . ."  
  
As everyone was clearly working it out now, it seemed useless to conceal. "For his daughter," Harry finally said. There was a pause.  
  
"A nice girl, as I remember," Dumbledore said happily, "Quick, and pretty. . ."  
  
"Headmaster!" McGonagall interjected.  
  
"You should be very flattered Harry," the Headmaster continued unfazed.  
  
"You could do worse," Snape added with an eye on Black, who stridently objected - "My godson's not marrying a Death Eater girl!".  
  
"It's not marriage," Harry retorted, "it's. . . it's Quidditch and teaching!"  
  
"Harry, you can't!" Sirius protested.  
  
"I didn't say I was!"  
  
"Please!" the Headmaster said firmly. "We're becoming unnecessarily excited."  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
"Your hound is waiting, Mr Potter." Snape nods towards Sirius in the doorway, who glowers and turns away.  
  
"Actually, I need to speak with you Headmaster. Tonight," I manage to add. "And with you too, I think, Professor. It's about Draco."  
  
Sirius isn't happy, but says he understands at last. We promise to write every week, and he'll be back within the month to report. I take Remus's usual chair, close to Fawkes. The Draco story takes only minutes and I think I'd feel I've over-reacted, but both men are clearly considering it seriously. Though, of course, not saying anything to me.  
  
"Severus, what do you intend?" I'm tense now with annoyance at how little I've been included in the Order's conversations about this. Dumbledore gives me that version of the twinkle that claims I would understand, so I don't look at him. Instead I look at Snape, hesitating.  
  
He almost shrugs. "I. . . appealed to Lucius' knowledge of me, insisted my seeking an Engagement would be incredible. He made it clear that my participation is not optional."  
  
"I'm sorry, Severus," the Headmaster says, and I suddenly get that he also was punished today. And it's strange and disturbing how many times I've seen him after Cruciatus. There's a redness to his eyes. A stiff way of moving.  
  
"There could be a conflict of interest," Dumbledore suggests.  
  
"No, I could choose a student at another school, there are private students, and some who've left education, although I my approaching someone with no scholarly strengths would surely seem extraordinary." Snape rearranges himself, it's now clear, painfully. "I've been excluded from this plan, which hasn't, Lucius points out, required my specific skills. However it seems I have a role now, and I won't be allowed to avoid it." He glances at me again, and the not meeting my eyes is getting annoying. "I thought perhaps Ms Granger, although the mixed blood issue may mean she doesn't satisfy."  
  
"Hermione?" I say, "Our Hermione? Is. utterly opposed to the whole thing!"  
  
"Sensible girl," Snape returns.  
  
"Is in love with Ron!" I add in a shocked voice.  
  
"I would be able to assure her that I had no such motives."  
  
Sirius' barb about the lucky boy suddenly hits me and. . . Snape's gay? I must react because he looks away as he says, "I could at least tolerate a competent apprentice if the whole plot doesn't collapse before a contract is signed."  
  
I can't think of a single thing to say. An Engagement between Snape and Hermione is just too - "Ron would kill you."  
  
Dumbledore cuts him off, which I suspect is just as well, "Lucius wasn't at all specific?" Snape's glance is such a give away it's very hard to believe he's a spy, but then by now I also know him well. Snape sighs, and I know I've never heard quite that one before.  
  
"I am specifically instructed not to approach Draco Malfoy" - so that sigh apparently means actual information - "which may be relevant, under the circumstances." Something in my response must look like relief because he adds, "And you can be assured, Mr Potter, that I will also not be approaching you."  
  
"Really?" I can't help saying it - "I think we'd make a great team."  
  
He does blink, and I win.  
  
"Most amusing," he drawls, looking away.  
  
"Why not Draco?" I ask. He's silent and still not looking at me, damn it. "I'm not just the. what is it. mascot here! Tell me."  
  
"Severus," Dumbledore says, "perhaps if they're to be friends." And I definitely didn't say that.  
  
"His father has other plans for him." Snape reluctantly continued. "And it appears he fears Draco might accept." 


	6. The Way of the World

Declaro VI: The Way of the World  
  
HARRY:  
  
Not a good day. Bathroom full of people hanging about to share gossip, and I spent an age trying to calm a mirror some idiot had cursed to scream every time you looked at it. Dennis was just sure I could make it see sense. I hate wizarding mirrors; they're always poking at the scar and making suggestions about my hair. Vain, too.  
  
Dean's reading yet again from the Prophet. "At Hogwarts. . . blah blah blah. . . here! From Robin Pringle (London), Eunice Rookwood (Bath), Lavinia Sprout (Professor, Hogwarts), to Neville Longbottom (Hogwarts). Wow Neville that's nearly as many as Malfoy ever got."  
  
He's clearly over the shock, then, comparing Neville's success to everyone else on the list. Hermione mutters something about Jane Austen novels. Neville's beyond embarrassed.  
  
"Hi Harry," he offers, in the quiet voice he hadn't used for years. I don't think much more than "Hi" will be welcome. I've heard it seven different ways already. Neville's going to be offered a place as assistant to Professor Sprout, and the Rookwood girl (related to the woman Snape mentioned?) was, according to rumour or those who saw the miniature illusion in person - staggeringly beautiful. The upper Gryffindor boys are pretty evenly divided over promising career and gorgeous girl. Neville's always been pretty retiring about girls, though. If he's heard even half the suggestions for the contract I did this morning, he'll be red for a month.  
  
The owls are coming. We all know the sound by now. There's a flutter above and shuffles and whispers below, and the strangest anticipation as they fan out. Even when you try not to look, you want to. Seamus is cheering; for him it's a lottery and a race, Gryffindor against the rest. Hermione says my name and there are white ribbons and wings as the birds beat back against the air, finding the right place. They never just drop and fly on. A head swivels my way and I put out a hand for the box she's carrying. In a rush they're gone, leaving me with a smooth grey box and Hermione with a large white card. Ron's staring blankly at her. Doesn't mean it's Snape.  
  
How do you find the owls anyway? And do you bring the ribbons, or are they somehow provided? My fingers ache from gripping the table edge.  
  
Hermione just says, "Well."  
  
I slip the box into my robe. Ron is still silent.  
  
Eventually she smiles a little and says, "Not from you, I take it?"  
  
And he says - too calmly given everything is about to fall apart - "Must be from your other secret admirer."  
  
"What does it say?" Dean asks from across the table.  
  
She says quietly "Hermione Granger. Open privately." There might be something else, but Ron is leaving. No he doesn't want to know; no he's fine; I catch his arm but, no, he's fine and just wants some time.  
  
I look for Snape almost automatically. The staff had maintained a policy of pretending breakfast proceeded in the usual way, entirely free of white owls with white ribbons. Today there is more obvious attention, but no Snape. It could be from someone else.  
  
"Hermione?" I ask.  
  
"I'm fine," she lies, sliding the card into her book bag.  
  
I gather up my things to go as well, feeling the way we are looked at.  
  
Dean leans excitedly across the table. "Harry, aren't you going to. . ?"  
  
Hermione interjects "Not right now Dean. Really, just leave it. Please."  
  
A few people congratulate Hermione, but there's no great excitement; we all see the complication. Pansy Parkinson gives her a bright smile, the bitch, and raises an eye at me.  
  
The remaining Slytherins watch us in a too intense way. Draco's leaning at the door, carefully casual. "Mr Potter, Ms Granger," he nods. "You had mail?"  
  
"C'mon Harry," Hermione urges, "we're terribly late."  
  
Draco smiles. "We're all late today. Class delayed till half past for a staff meeting."  
  
"Snape'll be livid," Crabbe offers.  
  
Goyle adds, "I reckon they're sacking Sprout for putting the hard word on Longbottom".  
  
"Eeeeww!" moans one of the interchangeable Slytherin girls who hang with Draco's offsiders in the forlorn hope he'll notice them.  
  
Hermione's moving us past, but I put my other hand into the pocket with the box. Cool, smooth, not dangerous. Remember the Hogwarts' wards.  
  
Malfoy stays in the doorway and, after yesterday, the role is just irritating. "Do you mind, Malfoy?" I snap at him. "Or did you just not get enough attention this morning?"  
  
"Just curious," he replies with a slow smirk.  
  
Hermione gives an exasperated sigh.  
  
He turns in beside me, as if we just accidentally end up walking together. I really need to know now; I can feel his interest. He knows or he doesn't know? I stop and he keeps on walking with no reason to wait. I pull out the box and flip it open.  
  
* * *  
  
Anyone who knew where to look could have found him, and Harry wasn't altogether surprised this included Malfoy. Eyes on his book he said, "What do you want?"  
  
Draco took a seat on the table. He looked at Harry's fingers thrust a bit irritably up through his hair where he leant on one hand. It was a library, after all, so Draco bent down to speak closely, "You know we've been circling this conversation for days."  
  
Harry looked up and pulled his chair a little further away. "I already asked a question."  
  
"I told you," Draco said, "I want a trade." With a smile he added, "I've been very up front, which you know isn't good for my reputation." Draco doing sarcastic charm, then.  
  
"I don't trust you." Harry offered bluntly. "Not why you want to talk to me, or what you might say."  
  
Draco slid into the chair - "I never said you had to. . . come on" - and then walked off, brushing his thigh against Harry's arm as he passed.  
  
Feeling annoyed and a bit excited at once Harry went after him, just to see.  
  
As Malfoy passed the bookcase concealing the table he heard a whispered "Delitesco" and the other boy faded from view. Harry stopped, but felt a tug on the sleeve of his robe.  
  
"I think this involves some kind of trust," he whispered, following the pull. There was no one much in the library this late. Terry Boot tutoring young Ravenclaws under a silencing spell near the front desk. Madame Pince, sorting books by levitation. In front of a green door, on the quiet side, the contact disappeared; the door clicked open.  
  
Inside, in a room shelved with stacks of folders, Draco appeared as the spell dispersed. Admitting his stupidity Harry went in. He watched the son, heir, and principle student of his second most powerful enemy cast lock and silence spells on the door and the room. He was nervous for all the wrong reasons. He did know the counters to both those spells. And somewhere the castle and Albus were undoubtedly recognising them too.  
  
"Invisibility, Malfoy? I'm impressed. And I've never heard of that version."  
  
"Just a conceal actually," he replies. "Particular to those immediate to the casting and very temporary." Draco lounged into one of the chairs at the long table. "Those of us without invisibility cloaks have to compensate as best we can."  
  
Harry didn't need to hear the story about Snape's instructions on securing the Syltherin dormitories against Gryffindors with invisibility cloaks again. The results had been quite embarrassing enough. "Let's get on with this," he said.  
  
Draco took something from a pocket and asked, "Do you recognise it?"  
  
A disc on a chain. . . which was in last year's Charms exam. "Credo Candoris," Harry said, remembering it was very hard to find, "how'd you get it?"  
  
"Dishonestly. So are we trading?"  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
The abridged version of What I Did on My Summer Holidays is that Draco Malfoy has been groomed as a most useful accessory for any dark plan or empire. Amulet or not I get why Draco is offering some kind of alliance against this. For someone focused so intently on self-control, being positioned as a pawn must be unbearable.  
  
The Credo Candoris won't stop him lying, at least not exaggerating or omitting, and I can see what I think is the odd avoidance, but it will indicate deceitful intent. It's tempting to push that a little and see where it goes. Why is he approaching me and not Dumbledore?  
  
Draco shifts and whispers a "lumos certus". It's been dark since the main lights went out in the library, but we hadn't bothered with light while he talked. The light's pale and for some reason blue. It hangs in the air above and between us, ghosting over Draco's skin.  
  
"He probably should have omitted philosophy from the tutorials," Draco continued, "but Lucius believes in being well-rounded. It let me be uncertain." This was clearly an admission. "Why train myself to be traded off to somebody else's most useful person. Or to Voldemort himself." I'd thought of that too, and the common room comedy about Draco and Voldemort's wedding, "That occurred to me," he says, as if hearing my thought, "It bothered me for days."  
  
"You've got plenty of other offers," I suggest. "And the contracts are binding." Which meant, I guess, that I could see some sort of value in it all, maybe. If you needed to escape. "Take a safe one."  
  
Draco smiled thinly. "None of them would defy my father's decision. True the spells won't work without your consent - but consent can be obtained." I'm tracking back through all the names I've heard linked to Draco in the last few weeks, and it seems impossible that. . .  
  
"I think it's almost polite, in death-eater circles," he continues, in a calm voice, "to declare yourself interested in me. There may even be a rule. And then, of course, I am a prize." He says it so bitterly I'm can't help both pity and fear, and I feel the stretch between now and the boy whose hand I wouldn't shake on the first day of school hanging between us.  
  
"On the other hand, you'd have to be pretty sure of yourself to declare an interest in Harry Potter." Which brings me to the box. I place it carefully on the table.  
  
"I don't think so," he smirks at me. "It's a trade, remember. What have you got?" I'm still trying to sort out what I can tell him in return; what my place in the Order means I can't. "How about Granger's dec.?" No way. "Not that I care", he adds, "but secrets are always interesting."  
  
Draco surely knows about the Order and my part in it, just as I know his father is a death-eater and he's destined to be one too. I've no idea how this effects that, but I know it matters. Perhaps a lot. "Pass me the amulet."  
  
"I don't actually need you to. . ." he begins, but this is supposed to be a trade. He slides it across the table, and I put my wrist through the chain. The metal disc is warm on my palm where he's been holding it. Makes me shiver. For a moment I expect the charm to reveal that about me.  
  
I tell him what the Revival knows, leaving out Snape entirely. He doesn't look at me, he looks at the table, and I can feel him scanning my voice for what's there and what's not. I tell him how we plan to bring the rite into the school and he nods briefly. It makes me wonder what house Dumbledore was in. "Perhaps you should speak to the Headmaster."  
  
"I'll think about it," he replies shortly. "Your mysterious box . .?"  
  
I tip the object inside on to the table. A glass or crystal disc as thick as my little finger, patterned around the edge, rattles to a stop. On top is my name, etched into the surface. He reaches out and flips it over. "Blaise Zabini." I can't guess what he's thinking. "It's nice, if cryptic. Shows some style and effort."  
  
That's not what I need to know. "Why?"  
  
"Handsome, rich, brave, talented Harry Potter - possibly destined to be the great wizard of our time," none of which sounds like a compliment as he says it, "and you don't know why." I look away. It's cruel, and partly true. I'm the boy-who-fucking-lived.  
  
I pass him the word-of-faith charm, which sits mutely in his palm. Maybe it's a fake. "Blaise is following instructions, but it's not even a vague offer. I doubt he'll actively pursue you because they'd never believe you'll take him." The effort seems extraordinary but, I suppose. . . if they have the aims we suspect. "It might have been my father's decision, or even his father's as there's some power in the contract spell."  
  
He tosses the glass disc neatly back into the box. "There's no way of keeping it out of the public list. The declaration spell is a record that can't be faked. But I can ensure he doesn't bother you. After all, he really should have mentioned this to me."  
  
"Thanks. I guess." Draco's looking at me expectantly now, so I take the amulet from him again. "I don't know anything else worth sharing really," I say, and it glows up hot and gold like a little cold ball of fire. I meet his look. "Just testing." He nods as if that's quite reasonable. "I don't think I can tell you anything else."  
  
"Well you owe me." He walks to the door, casually throwing off spells.  
  
"I don't want to owe you Malfoy."  
  
"I think I'll take it in kind, then."  
  
I walk after him uncertainly.  
  
"I mean," he says, "you can do something else for me."  
  
I fight a hot rising blush, and I can feel every specific inch between his arm and my own as he opens the door. Passing in front of him I say, "I don't think so."  
  
Suddenly he throws an arm around my shoulders and I'd flinch but it thrills me. "Harry, don't worry, it'll be fun. I'm having a party is all, and I want you to come."  
  
"That's all?"  
  
I'm aware of the silent library around us although, as prefects, we can be here if we want. "Just dress appropriately, and bring your friends."  
  
"My friends?"  
  
"Yes, Weasley, Granger; your friends."  
  
I can't think of what to say, or what scheme this might be, but I can still feel him walking next to me in the almost dark.  
  
"Friday night, 9pm; the 7th year Slytherin common room." The library doors snuffle and grumble at having to reopen out of hours. "And don't forget to dress."  
  
A party. In Slytherin. With Ron. And something else - "What are we supposed to wear?," I ask.  
  
"I don't care about the others. But you," he tugs on his own sleeve, "green robes."  
  
At which I definitely find a voice - "No way. Absolutely not."  
  
"It's a fair trade Harry," he says in a reasonable tone.  
  
He's about to sweep off down the corridor, I know, but I grab his arm and he turns back, looking kind of amused. "Getting my friends there, why ever you want it is a fair trade," I insist, "The robes are extra."  
  
"And what do you want?" he asks, leaning in a little closer. He's slightly taller than me, but I suddenly see the confident tease in it. Breathe. No, breathe and think. His face hovers a few inches from mine, and I won't look to see where or how he's looking.  
  
"A yes or no answer to a question." I say, having no idea what I would want to know that's worth wearing the centre-of-attention costume.  
  
"Really? Ok. Try me." I need a powerful question here - a fuck you Malfoy don't play with me, don't even play with me nicely, question. Draco puts a hand up to my shoulder, tentatively. "What's your question, Harry?" If we weren't so carefully poised it would almost be an embrace. Fuck him.  
  
"Are you interested in Professor Snape?" 


	7. Care of the Self

------------------------------------------  
  
Flashbacks indicated by "~~"  
  
------------------------------------------  
  
Declaro VI: The Care of the Self  
  
As Head Girl - no one had been surprised - Hermione had her own room. Harry found her reading by the window in pyjamas. She silently made room for him and he could see she'd been crying. Harry focused on the book, Wizarding Culture Through the Ages.  
  
He'd wanted to tell her about the ultimatum and Snape's plan, but he vividly recalled the Potions Professor snidely insisting the Order couldn't afford children, "for whom every secret is a new toy". Ron and Hermione understood they couldn't know everything.  
  
"So are you actually joining the speaking world again?" she said finally.  
  
"I talked to Malfoy," she didn't seem surprised. "He thinks it's a test to see what I'll do. He's probably right - there's not even anything to respond to. Just a piece of glass."  
  
Hermione nodded - they'd checked it for magic and found nothing. After a moment she closed the book and curled up at the end of window-seat. "He doesn't want to talk."  
  
"Him too? Huh. boys." She smiled at that. "I figure no one will care about Zabini and me once they've heard your news - and G's a long way before P."  
  
"Except they'll all look up Harry Potter first," she teased. "Actually, Padma thinks they'll all be too terrified to talk to me at all." She'd told Padma then. But she had to talk to someone, and he'd been hiding in the library and Ron was, well, being obtuse and unhelpful Ron. Obtuse was such an Hermione word. "At least the Snape thing won't have people hiding from me in the showers," she continued. "Staring at me every other minute of the day probably but. . . In a way it's rather flattering. I can't say I haven't. . . though I'm not saying that I would."  
  
"What did he write anyway?" Harry grinned. "I can't imagine. . ." He stopped when that came out all too clearly in Sirius' tone.  
  
She shifted self-consciously. "It was only 'You will be as shocked to receive this communication as I am to be writing it' and that he wants an apprentice."  
  
"Oh." Then Harry remembered, "Hey, what do you mean hiding in the showers?"  
  
"Oh I'm sure they won't," she says. "But you know how they were with Blaise."  
  
Harry had been preoccupied with Ron's last tantrum at the time, but he got it.  
  
"Not that anyone would think that about you," she added, touching his arm.  
  
Right. Fine. Right. "Great. I'll probably be the cover story: the gay-boy- who-lived."  
  
"Am I missing the coming out scene?" Ron said from the doorway. He shuffled a little shyly when they looked up. "Hi Mione. Harry. Can I come in?"  
  
No one had to answer. He ignored his usual place, though, and sat on the floor, bare feet towards where the empty hearth made the room feel cold.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ron eventually said. "I'd just never thought. . . which is dumb. It was bound to happen."  
  
"Ron, you know I. . ." Hermione stopped, and Ron nodded. Sometimes Harry wanted to lock them in a cupboard till they came out a couple. Even if it only lasted a day.  
  
"You're so ridiculous, you know," she added.  
  
"I know."  
  
"It's not like I'd even consider it."  
  
There was a longer than expected pause. "You don't want to know what he's offering?"  
  
"It's not a real position, Ron," Hermione replied. "He could take an apprentice without all of that."  
  
"Except he wouldn't." Ron said tensely. "He's Snape."  
  
Harry felt the tone shift and tried to head him off. "Ron, I don't think. . ."  
  
"No," Ron said, "think about it. Hermione deserves an apprenticeship with a Master. We only know one, but he's a complete bastard." He caught Harry's expression. "He may not be a death-eater, but he's still a complete bastard who hates everybody." Harry let it go, and wasn't sure what he would have said anyway. "Except now, for whatever reason. . ." and it was clearly the reason that bothered Ron the most.  
  
Ron looked at Hermione directly for the first time, "You can't just say no."  
  
* * *  
  
Harry, Ron and Hermione skipped breakfast, and the fated reading of the list. The whole drama could go on without them, and at least on their own territory the interrogation would be easier to handle. Their friends had been a bit irritated by the secrecy, and some significant looks shot their way when it was clear they were not going to breakfast either.  
  
Sprawled out on a lounge, Ron was inventing theories about what happened if a Rite owl couldn't find you, and Hermione was on the floor flipping through books trying to find an answer and explaining the Declaro spell, when a grey owl rapped at the common room window. Listening to her carefully for once, Harry let it in, unfolded the letters from the carrying cloth while fishing for owl treats in the jar on the mantle, and had already handed them over before he realised what it had brought. "Draco's invitations."  
  
"I can't believe you - you know it's a trap," Ron complained. Harry heard Hermione argue why it was more like a dare, but he was looking at the card in his hand.  
  
~~ "Are you interested in Professor Snape?" - an unidentifiable sound and then warm breath on his ear - "Is that what it looks like?" Draco whispered - Harry turned to see if it did and warm soft light open lips pressed against his jaw - he froze, he felt his stomach just drop, warmly - moving away from him, looking at him now, Draco said quietly, "Don't be an idiot, Harry"- Harry couldn't tell what the expression meant at all and blinked, his eyes stinging - and then Draco was walking away. ~~  
  
Ron was still insisting that you couldn't understand Slytherins and it was dangerous to try, when Hermione noticed Harry's shock. He showed them.  
  
"Malfoy's having a coming out party?" Hermoine exclaimed.  
  
"Which means what, exactly? I mean, it doesn't mean. Does it. . ? It'd be some Rite thing. . ." Ron trailed off looking at Harry's stunned expression. "Malfoy's gay?"  
  
"The whole world is gay," Seamus said abruptly, coming in from the stairs that led down to the castle, Neville and Ginny behind him. Ginny switched her anxious looks from Harry to Ron and back again. "Malfoy's out;" Seamus said, "Zabini's after Harry;" Ginny shook her head angrily and moved to sit next to the victim; "and Parvarti Patil has a declaration from Celia Druce - you know, the auror that was here last year". He slumped into an armchair, looking at the others with some satisfaction. "Yep, the whole world's gay except us. And Snape apparently," he didn't look at Hermione, but everyone else did and Ron practically growled, "I vote we never leave the tower."  
  
* * *  
  
"Mr Malfoy," Severus Snape said with the merest hint of surprise, "no Charms tutorial?"  
  
"Blaise is covering for me," the boy replied. "He owes me a favour."  
  
"As you can see, I am in the middle of a research project," he gestured across the neatly stacked books and mess of papers on his desk, "so perhaps you could be brief."  
  
"Hermione Granger." Severus put down his quill, although it was entirely expected, and directed the boy to an armchair. "Perhaps less brief than that."  
  
"I doubt my father will consider one of the most surreptitious declarations in Hogwarts fulfils his expectations." Draco took an envelope from the pocket of his robe and placed it on the desk. "I also wished to bring you an invitation."  
  
Severus took a silver knife from one drawer. "You should be much more circumspect when intervening in your father's affairs," he turned the knife in one hand skillfully; "my own, of course, are none of your concern."  
  
Draco nodded, then said calmly, "I want you to make a declaration of interest in me." After the briefest pause, Severus sliced open the envelope. "It should be spectacular, and successful." The knife was carefully placed on the desk.  
  
The dungeon rooms were cool but not cold at this time of year, and they were filled with familiar unnameable smells, dark green leather, and vibrant deep wood.  
  
"I have no intention of doing so," Snape replied calmly. "As you have already surmised, I was unwilling to participate even so far in this carnival. I have now made an apprenticeship offer and I have no interest in the kind of confrontations a second may involve."  
  
"My Potions record is better than Granger's," Draco protested.  
  
"She excels in every subject, however, and still almost equals you there."  
  
Draco didn't quite stop a scowl. "However, Professor, I am not necessarily interested in being your apprentice."  
  
Watching Draco remain perfectly still in the large chair, Severus removed a card from the envelope, and turned it over. After a second he blinked slowly. "You stupid boy."  
  
Draco stood, and Snape stood with him. "Severus," he didn't react to the too familiar name, "if you refuse, I will tell my father that you are a spy for the Order of the Phoenix." He paused, clearly for effect. "I sincerely hope to see you at my party."  
  
Two steps towards the door Draco lost focus, stumbled, and was caught before he hit the floor. In his ear Severus said softly, "To underestimate me like that is more than stupid. If you even know what game this is, you clearly have no idea where the other pieces are."  
  
Draco struggled against the curse - he'd trained hard all summer under exacting tutors - and it gave a little. The voice said, "You know and have nothing, Draco." He fought out a reply - "He'll believe me."  
  
"Well done. But I want to hear you talk to me, Draco." He just heard the next spell - something compellare - and his head stopped swimming as a number of things were thrown into sharp relief. He was pressed up against the desk by Snape's hip. One of those long hands gripped his shoulder too tightly, a wand pressed into his arm, the other firmly cupping the side of his face. He twisted; he had to, but only to feel the contact more.  
  
"Be still," Severus said. He was still. "Why do you think I am a spy?"  
  
"A long time. . ." Draco said softly, in a slurred voice, "and Potter."  
  
"Harry told you I was a spy?"  
  
"No," Draco wrestled the bright flare in his mind, "he's the stupid boy - doesn't know how to play."  
  
"What did you do?" Draco said nothing; it started to ache. "Now, Draco," Snape insisted.  
  
"Talked to him. . ."  
  
~~ . . . any curse inflected with compellare pins you down. . . let it wash over you. . . try not to think. . . most of all, try not to be Draco Malfoy ~~  
  
Draco relaxed and felt the curse drift; he could feel the desk behind and the floor beneath. He dragged in a breath and forced out "He wants me. . . And so do you."  
  
"That's quite impressive," Snape said coolly. "Lucius has polished you up for auction, hasn't he boy?"  
  
Under Draco's bright flare of anger the arms disappeared and he lurched toward a chair. Things came and went. Severus was handing him a cup of something cool. He drank.  
  
* * *  
  
SEVERUS:  
  
I say it: "Cherry Ripe". I wish I was less sure the sweet references are for my benefit.  
  
"Severus, thank you for coming." He offers and I take the same chair as every other time. "Tea?" This is one of those too often repeated scenes in the same kind of story. I will decline, he will offer sweets, I will decline (more sullenly), and he will pretend not to understand or perhaps imply that my life would be materially improved by the consumption of confectionery or pastries. "Perhaps not," he finishes.  
  
Carefully sitting, because he's older than he likes us to think, Albus reclines, one eye on Fawkes - I swear that phoenix is psychic, and it ruffles just of sight - and the other on me. "You're feeling better?" he asks.  
  
"I understand why I've been called here, Headmaster." I know what he wants.  
  
"Of course" - if he dares to say just humour an old man or anything so disingenuous - "you would like me to be direct." He chooses a biscuit thoughtfully and eyes it from every angle. "Would you agree, Severus, that what Draco most needs is an alternative to the path his father has set before him."  
  
"I can think of a number of things the boy needs, some of which no one will dare give him, and others he would utterly reject." The careless habit of running my hand through my hair always reappears around Albus. I wipe the hand on my robe irritably.  
  
"In any case," Albus continues, "Poppy tells me there's no reason Draco shouldn't hold his celebration as planned." My life is too little my own as it is. "Which is very good news".  
  
"You're right. I should have known; he should have been stopped." So certain and so exposed, Draco.  
  
"No one blames you, Severus." Which is no reassurance, as I know otherwise myself.  
  
"Lucius must already know and I," I hesitate to say it, "do not think we will be able to keep him safe, or even here, once his father has decided on a response, and a punishment."  
  
"He needs a friend," Albus says warmly.  
  
I refuse to point out the holes in that speculation on the grounds that Albus knows them already and will only take it as encouragement. Rising, I say, "I will do what I can."  
  
Albus beams warmly and stands to take my arm as if I've dedicated my future life to the foolish boy's protection. "Severus," he says. And of course I have.  
  
* * *  
  
"I can't believe we're doing this," Ron said for the twentieth time. Hermione rolled her eyes and brushed a speck from her new robe, which Ron had helped choose - impatiently hopping outside the changing room at Forlette's it's true, but he had actually managed to say "I like that one, it's like chocolate." And she liked Ron in Muggle clothes, which he'd chosen to annoy the Slytherins, but dark jeans and a rust-coloured shirt really looked nice on him, she thought. She'd said so; he'd kicked the ground nervously a few times and leant in to kiss her cheek. It was a moment she'd gone over quite a few times already. She smiled at Ron smiling at her.  
  
Harry had bought them the clothes - part bribe and part just compensation Ron had said - and it had been a really nice afternoon. And they had a half- day on Friday, as seniors, so they hadn't even missed a class to enjoy it, although there was some revision she should fit in on the weekend, and she'd not done that study plan. . . But, they'd had lunch at the Broomsticks, shopped and talked, and the Rite wasn't mentioned, nor was Snape.  
  
Who was crossing the room towards them.  
  
Ron tensed. She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm. Harry was on the other side of the room chatting happily with Oliver Wood, who they hadn't seen for more than a year and who had apparently come with Marcus Flint. Ron had whispered in her ear that they'd have to tell Seamus the world outside Hogwarts was also gay. Hermione had frowned, but fought the urge to explain why in great detail; it was good to see Ron happy.  
  
"Ms Granger, Mr Weasley," Snape inclined his head to each of them, as if they were people. "Mr Malfoy's social circle is certainly expanding."  
  
She felt Ron glower, but Snape didn't respond. "Professor," she said quickly, "We didn't really expect, ah, staff to be here."  
  
"But Malfoy's not like any other student is he?" Ron added sarcastically.  
  
"Certainly, most students lack the courage to risk humiliation in front of their peers, even for the most strongly-felt convictions, " Snape replied. "Gryffindors always admire that sort of thing, I know. In fact, didn't we discuss that recently, Mr Weasley?"  
  
Ron reddened, and Hermione was sure there was about to be an awful scene. Then Harry appeared with Oliver, who shook the Professor's hand and clapped Ron on the shoulder, drawing him happily to one side in a conversation about the Cannons, who he'd just seen.  
  
Hermione was shocked when Harry gave a quiet relieved sigh. She glanced at Oliver, who winked at her over Ron's shoulder. She felt slightly offended.  
  
Turning back to say so she saw the strangest look on Harry's face. At a subtle angle, but it was obvious to her, he was watching Professor Snape, who was watching Draco Malfoy, perched on a sideboard across the room and blatantly teasing Flint but watching. . . Harry. Hermione felt suddenly out of her depth, and more than a little concerned.  
  
"Harry?" she said quietly, and the triangle was broken as both he and Snape turned to her.  
  
"Just like a Gryffindor party, really," Harry said hastily. "And no one's tried to hex us," he added before she could respond, "but perhaps they're all scared of the Professor."  
  
Hermione didn't have a clue what to make of that familiarity. With Snape of all people. Though he didn't seem annoyed, which was almost more shocking.  
  
"I would be entirely negligent if they were not," Snape responded with an almost smile she'd seen before. It was strange to realise she knew which sardonic expression actually constituted a smile, especially as she now could - though of course she wouldn't - spend many years in his company.  
  
"Ms Granger," he added, "could I speak with you for a moment?"  
  
She glanced at Ron, who was explaining something with animated illustrative gestures - that was clearly a rising broom - and nodded. She may as well finish this now.  
  
* * *  
  
"You look great Harry." Oliver said again and, a few drinks later than the last time, Harry didn't blush. In fact, he felt like he looked great.  
  
He'd felt awkward and self-conscious all the way through the process of buying green robes from the only store in Hogsmeade that sold them. The seamstress had been called from the back to check the fit was perfect because, after all, this was Harry Potter. In their store. This was their small contribution to him starting a new life or. . . the salesgirl said just a little more discreetly. . . finding that special someone.  
  
By the time he wore the damn things out of the bedroom he shared with Ron he was even more embarrassed. Ron had spent the afternoon regaling him with stories about suitors falling at his feet, fist fights over his attention, and duels over his honour. Given the party and the venue these stories were, right now, almost painfully embarrassing and - quite counter to Ron's intentions, he knew - frighteningly arousing.  
  
Would Draco kiss him (again)? Did that - brush of the mouth - count as a kiss? Not that he hadn't kissed girls of course but it was so much more. . . something. Forbidden, maybe, but something else as well. He looked at the floor, but at least there was a plausible cover for the blush with Oliver clearly, yeah, clearly flirting with him. He had a sudden flash of Oliver's laughing mouth on his. God, what was wrong with him.  
  
"Green and black, you know," Oliver said, "is perfect for you. Brings out the contrast between your hair and eyes." Harry's couldn't help but check who might have heard that. Oliver laughed, and he felt his body tighten in response.  
  
"I'm teasing," Oliver laughed again. "It's true but I'm a little drunk, sorry, and this is the first time Marcus and I - in public - and I'm knew to the whole 'gay' thing." Harry could see he did look a little nervous. "And flirting does seem to be the thing to do," he glanced at his boyfriend near the door, one arm on the wall behind Draco's head. Draco smiled.  
  
". . . You are, aren't you?" Oliver was saying.  
  
"Um, Sorry?"  
  
"Gay. You are, right?" Harry struggled for the right answer, if he knew it.  
  
Oliver apparently didn't need him to know. "I thought about it, when we were all talking about the declarations, that maybe you'd be interested." Harry struggled to keep up with the string of things that had never occurred to him. "I mean, we've got a lot in common. But then there was Marcus, and I heard that Professor Snape would."  
  
"Snape would what?" Harry asked, trying to keep the escalating shock out of his voice.  
  
"Declare for you, of course," the young man replied. "It's weird when you don't know the people who know to find out Snape has a sex life. But you know I can see it now. . . he's actually rather. . ."  
  
Harry muttered something that was probably rude and left. The ridiculous high collar was hot and uncomfortable. He needed to get back to the tower, if he could find Ron and Hermione. The door to the bar was blocked by two young men hotly kissing. Harry turned away with the subtle thrust of their hips and the wet sound of their kiss burnt into his mind. Through the arch into the next room he almost ran right into Snape - of course he did, it had to be Snape - talking with Flint. They both turned to look at him and Snape's eyes were dark and full of. . . contact (no). . . presence.  
  
* * *  
  
Severus was enjoying himself. He couldn't help but be interested in Granger's dismayed, polite attempts to explain why she couldn't possibly, even though she obviously wanted to. He was amused, and even minutely impressed, by Weasley's struggle, for the girl's sake, to suppress a desire to punch him that was stronger than his practical fear of being hexed into the next decade. He enjoyed the curious discomfort of the guests who were too socially astute to decline but utterly dismayed by the overt displays of homosexuality - whatever had Draco been doing this summer. And he was not entirely immune to the young men on flirtatious display, especially when they weren't aware of it. Whoever had talked Harry Potter into those particularly fine green robes should be congratulated. And then, Draco had played host, adversary, and coquette in equally appealing measure.  
  
But there were things to be done. However pleasing, Draco's event was a tactical disaster, and now he needed to save the idiot boy's hide. It would be a crime to allow Lucius to seriously damage it.  
  
He'd gone this way, admirers in tow, after Potter's embarrassed departure. There was a cacophony behind him at the bar, Crabbe and Goyle covering their homophobia with noise, but he didn't miss Draco's low laughter from the half-open door to his left.  
  
It was dark, and he would have taken that as a cue to leave, but the light from the doorway fell across them, against the far wall. Draco's open robes framed his bare chest, stomach and hips, where hands grasped his pale skin around a darker head. In that instant it angled back to reveal Draco's cock sliding thickly into a young man's mouth.  
  
Draco met his eyes across the corridor and, with an intent look, reached down to grasp Oliver's head and thrust in more firmly with a sound as quiet as flesh on wet flesh. 


	8. Tableaux

Declaro VIII: Tableaux  
  
There was a moment in which Severus Snape breathed, watching, almost through his lashes, Draco Malfoy curl his hand into the other boy's hair more tightly and rock his hips forward again with sharp sound - "Ah."  
  
And then it was gone.  
  
"Wood! Malfoy!" Oliver lurched away with a startled cry. There was a flash of naked Draco thrown back against the dark of the wall, head turned away, long white angle of hipbone and thigh, a pale erection shaded with slightly darker curls.  
  
Wood shuffled with clothes and hair in the dark, but Draco looked back at his Professor unashamedly, dropping his arms and shifting to frame his hips. In the instant before the older man could growl out "Cover yourself!" he saw the boy's penis twitch and glisten in the light from the door and his anger swelled.  
  
Severus watched Draco close off his face in a slow blink, and then curl up into a new pose, one foot on the wall as he began to slowly shut the lower clasps on his robe. A slash of pale chest moved between the panels of cloth, dropping with the movements of his hands to reveal on this side a smooth stomach, on that a nipple or white upper arm.  
  
"Professor," Wood moved into his field of vision, announcing briskly, "I apologise. . ."  
  
"Get out, Mr Wood."  
  
"Oh. Yes, of course, sir." Oliver clearly moved to help his companion. "Draco. . ."  
  
"I need to speak to Mr Malfoy. You can leave."  
  
"Sir, as, um, the older party, and no longer a student. . ."  
  
"You are therefore not my concern."  
  
Oliver hesitated between them, unsure of the proper behaviour when. . . his head span.  
  
"Oliver," Draco said. "It's all right. I'll meet you back inside." His robe was only closed to the breastbone, and his fingers dropped away loosely.  
  
Oliver caught the look then - softer and more lascivious than the sly glances he'd been given. The Professor's stiff fury rang out through the dark room from the half open door that framed them perfectly, and it was so obvious what an idiot he'd been. "I'll leave you to it then", he said coldly.  
  
Snape caught his arm as he strode off. "Don't presume too much, Mr Wood."  
  
Oliver held back the sneer and the bright humiliation and pulled away. "And I believe Mr Flint is looking for you. He was rather drunk." Oliver dropped his eyes, glanced at Draco, who was looking only at Snape, and left.  
  
* * *  
  
SEVERUS:  
  
The boy keeps his place on the wall, a practiced picture of vulnerable availability. I wish I could laugh at him, but I feel uncovered and angry. His mouth slides carelessly between an almost smile and a lush pout. Lush - Merlin, I've called the boy lush.  
  
I've never been such a fraud as to pretend my senior students weren't attractive when they were, and Draco is erotic. This morning's foolishness was not the first time I've been propositioned by a student, either, even if he was the first one to actually end up in my arms - where he did fold and writhe back against me beautifully, too dazed to notice how hotly hard I was for him as he struggled and lost. I also can't deny he's been watching well enough to pick my preferences, and the submissive boy act is beautiful (the sudden thought that he's not entirely acting sends a tingling rush through my prick). But I can safely say I've never stood, iron hard now, watching a mostly naked student blatantly flaunt his body and his interest in me. He takes his time over the last clasps, though he knows by now I'll wait for him - the image flashes back for what I know won't be the last time of his eyes on mine as he took his pleasure, in another's mouth but from my eyes on him - to finish.  
  
With long and hard-learnt care I move the practiced glower into a stony frieze.  
  
He can tell he's lost the edge and moves, not closer to me but across the room. The boy thinks he's circling me. And I hate Lucius right now for his knowing so much and so little.  
  
"I am genuinely surprised," I say coolly, "that the Malfoy heir and a Slytherin prefect understands the obligations of hospitality so poorly. "  
  
I see his irritation spark. "We're not talking about manners here," he replies. At least he's ceased the performance, facing off with me just over arm's length away.  
  
"Really," I move my tone down to cold, "did you think you'd have another attempt at blackmail instead?"  
  
"That was a mistake," he says, more quietly.  
  
"Not to mention ill-informed." Which I know all too well is a serious insult to a Malfoy. He colours slightly and drops his gaze.  
  
"I was jealous."  
  
I will not sympathise with him.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco raised a hand as if to offer it and stepped closer. Severus didn't stop him, but he didn't respond. It was intimate. He breathed the feeling in a little and, carefully, placed his fingers against the stiff fabric of Severus' robe. Draco could smell wool and sandalwood and - was it grass? The fabric creased and smoothed - and lemon. He whispered, "I think you want to touch me."  
  
Severus didn't move away, but his mouth curled in something like disgust. "Unlikely. Especially now I've seen the type you're rutting with - Quidditch players, Draco?"  
  
The boy's eyes flickered. "Hardly rutting, Severus," he stressed the last word as he lifted his other hand to lightly curl around the other man's wrist. Snape didn't move, almost as if he was waiting for something to happen which must.  
  
"Not yet, anyway," Draco added. He tilted his head up and aside to speak softly across Severus' neck. "Don't you want to know?," he breathed, "How I want to give myself up."  
  
Snape broke the contact swiftly with a decided step back. "Did that work on Potter?"  
  
Draco flinched.  
  
"Now what I want, Draco, is for you to compose yourself and farewell your guests appropriately. You will also tutor for me instead of Professor Flitwick for the remainder of the term." Draco, adjusting his clothes, hesitated for just an instant. "So I can keep an eye on you." The boy's eyes closed and his lips pressed and released in an emotion neither of them could have named.  
  
Snape moved to the door and waited silently, and certainly without looking, until he felt Draco at his elbow. "Draco."  
  
"I will hate you if you sympathise," the boy whispered.  
  
"Unlikely," Snape said with some bitterness. "In fact I'm more than usually disappointed. Your behaviour has been. . . unbecoming."  
  
"House pride, Professor? How trite."  
  
"You've been careless; foolish. Bordering on suicidal." From one side he saw Draco's hard smile. Severus felt both empathy and something like grief and he had to add, flinging a resentful thought in the Headmaster's direction, "But it's entirely possible that I understand your situation rather more than you think."  
  
"Ironic", Draco replied, not looking his way. "I never thought you didn't."  
  
"Understand me then," Snape said, leaning almost over Draco's shoulder. "It would help neither of us."  
  
Draco would have walked off without a response but Snape stopped him with one hand, and waited. "I haven't made things worse," the boy eventually said quietly. "I will not do as he wants and he will never let me go."  
  
There was nothing else to say.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry rolled back into the body suddenly flung across his bed. "Ha-rr-y, c'mon wake up."  
  
". . . Ron?" Harry mumbled.  
  
Ron waited a minute, at most - "Ha-. . ."  
  
"Urgh. I'm awake. I'm - what's the time?" He blinked against the light and at the clock, which said Too Early. "Merlin. What is it?"  
  
"Harry. . ."  
  
"You realise I was up really late and, uh, my head hurts."  
  
"Harry," Ron said, urgently. "I'm going to do it."  
  
"Great. Can it happen while I'm sleeping?"  
  
"I need your help," the redhead pleaded. "Now. Before everyone else gets up. I'm. . ."  
  
"Coffee." Harry said.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Ron. You bring me coffee - not transfigured coffee either, because that just tastes weird - otherwise I'm sleeping."  
  
By the time Ron returned with something resembling coffee, Harry had drifted off, to a very strange dream about ravens under his bed, woken again, and was crossly huddled into his quilt, scowling at the day and trying not to think. "I don't suppose you could tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing last night," he asked.  
  
Ron shrugged. "You were pretty, ah, enthusiastic about a few things. But everyone was drunk. Now. . ." he trailed off expectantly.  
  
"Ok," Harry said resignedly, "what is it you're going to do?"  
  
"Hermione."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow at that and Ron flushed in a satisfying way. But he still shoved himself in under the quilt and stole a pillow.  
  
"You know what I mean," Ron said. "Help me."  
  
Harry was just about up to registering surprised concern, or was that concerned surprise. "You're," he started, "and, um, will she want you to? Live Your Life and everything."  
  
"Well she thinks it's a fraud, but if no one's being pushed. . . Anyway, she shouldn't have to choose Snape."  
  
"She doesn't have to choose anyone," Harry said. "But about Snape - you're being scarily calm. Why?"  
  
Ron lay on his back, nudging the curtain with one foot, flicking the sunlight across them distractedly. "She wants it, I know she does. Something for, you know, how hard she works. I just thought, maybe I could come up with something too. I mean imagine having to be ordered around by Snape for another five years. He's such a slimy, cruel. . . sorry."  
  
"I did ask."  
  
"Yeah but you know," Ron said, somewhat embarrassed, "bagging your. . . interest."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You really don't remember last night do you?" Ron said with a laugh.  
  
Harry ran through too many possible scenarios - Snape's eyes, Snape and Flint, Oliver's mouth, Draco against the wall - and at least as many ways of asking about it. But Ron had arranged parchment, ink and quill before he found anything he could bear to say. "So. What do I write?" he said with an expectant look. He couldn't, he wouldn't have done anything like. . . or too. . . Think about Ron.  
  
"Well," Harry said, eventually, "what are you going to offer?"  
  
Ron just looked.  
  
"You know," his friend continued, "like Karkaroff did. You say why she should be interested."  
  
"No, I get it," Ron said, "but. . . it's Hermione."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Harry took a breath. "But, let's say you do this - what would be in the so serious because so binding contract? Not just 'it's Hermione'."  
  
Ron gave a dismissive wave. "We can work that part out later. Hermione would. . ."  
  
Harry stopped him - "What - does - she - want?"  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
Harry hit him with a pillow.  
  
With a serious look Ron said, "Ok! All right, I know this. Um, brilliant research, new vista-things of knowledge." There was a really long pause. "For me to grow up?" "Definitely offer her that one."  
  
Ron frowned at the paper. "She doesn't need me to do well and I can't give her stuff," he considered. "Do I need to say? Can't we just share stuff, like usual? But, I guess, more. . ." He caught Harry's grin. "Don't give me that look." Harry grinned more. "What? You think I'm going to fall at her feet and 'offer her my heart'?" Harry's grin was ear-splitting. "Look," Ron said grumpily, "if. . ."  
  
"Ron, I'm just. . . it's great. But," and suddenly it did seem both great and really serious, "what is it you do for her?"  
  
"I've no idea," Ron said quietly, rolling his face into the pillow. Harry watched him. He stayed there.  
  
"Ok, look. . . Ron?" Harry lifted the pillow to look at his friend. "Hermione can do the study thing on her own, lots of different ways I guess," Ron pulled the pillow back down over his head, "but she might - she'd probably rather not do it on her own".  
  
Muffled Ron said "So. . .", and then pulled away the pillow to look at Harry in horror. "Oh god - am I offering her marriage?"  
  
There was a silence filled with uncertain intensity.  
  
Ron eventually said, "I can help. We could live together. Auror training pays ok, what with the maybe being killed any moment, and I've already got the papers. She'll get a scholarship for sure but that's not much - Percy's starving all the time since he quit Fudge. Hey, I guess I could ask Percy? What, you know, the really committed student needs."  
  
"You really should ask him. And Ron, maybe your parents?"  
  
"They'll hate the idea; they hate the whole thing."  
  
"I wouldn't want to be round when your mother finds out if you don't tell them. And it'll be in the paper anyway. Shit! Sirius, I didn't think. . . He always reads. . ."  
  
"Are we done with my life-changing decision then?" Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"Sorry. You just need to owl Percy about student life and tell your Mum you're going to propose to Hermione."  
  
"Great." He went back under the pillow.  
  
"And Ron?" Harry said, sliding out of bed and heading towards the bathroom, "definitely offer her your heart."  
  
He ducked the pillow, laughing.  
  
* * *  
  
The weekend was rife with gossip, though as none of it seemed to be about Harry he decided to try and forget about it. The one time he broached the subject with Hermione she blushed and actually giggled - and he wouldn't be trying that again.  
  
He hadn't seen Draco at all. Rumour was there'd been a howler from his father Saturday morning, but no one had actually seen it. He'd listened to Ron's half-baked plans, read Hermione's books, and watched the rain. It was one of those weekends. Sunday night the common room was busy with bickering about board games, clothes and favourite teams, and he had to get out for a while.  
  
He was most of the way to the Astronomy Tower when he saw Draco, Crabbe and Goyle entering a lower passage towards the owlery. He really should write to Sirius.  
  
There was always spare parchment for emergency notes there, and Sirius wasn't fussy about that kind of thing. Of course, he didn't want to run into the Slytherin goon squad, so he stayed on the upper level - there was a stairway from the Astronomy Tower down to the owlery, if you could convince it to open. He passed a hand over the place where the opening would be and the stones shivered. Taking out his wand he whispered a spell, and watched them blur and reform. "Thanks," he said softly, one hand on the mossy wall to steady himself as he went down.  
  
Below he heard voices, and finally Draco saying ". . . for which I'd like some privacy."  
  
Edging just barely around the wall where the landing turned he saw Draco finish something on a parchment and, putting the quill down, scroll it up. His companions waited a short distance away, watching him.  
  
Harry considered going down. He had to write to Sirius after all. Just as he decided to, there was a sudden firm grip on his shoulder and, in the same moment, amid a rustle of owls, Draco rose to receive the arrival of a falcon. "Don't move," Snape's voice said.  
  
Draco removed a scroll from the owl and offered the new one. It was off, without pausing for rest or reward, and Draco watched it go with a strange expression. Certainly there was a pause before he unfurled his letter, taking a minute to skim the contents before turning to the other Slytherin boys. "We can go now."  
  
Crabbe and Goyle almost seemed to wait for other instructions, but after a minute, sharing a look, they clearly agreed, made way for Draco, watched him pass, and followed him out of the owlery. Snape released his hand from Harry's shoulder.  
  
He turned to see the Professor leaving by the entrance he'd opened to the parapets, trailed by a flare of black robe. He could follow Draco, and it looked like Snape wouldn't stop him. But he might discover more from Snape.  
  
"Professor?" Snape stopped, not so far down the corridor as he could have been.  
  
"Yes Mr Potter? And I won't ask what you're doing up here at night."  
  
"I am a prefect," Harry said with some annoyance. He seemed always to have to remind Snape of that.  
  
"Quite. I don't know how I manage to forget that particular decision."  
  
"Can we. . . talk here?" Harry asked tentatively.  
  
"If we couldn't I would hardly let you get so far as. . . ." Snape waited for Harry's response.  
  
"Draco." Harry said. Snape nodded.  
  
"Is he," no, Harry knew that. "He's in danger."  
  
"He's a Malfoy," Snape replied, "and neither quite obedient nor precisely ambitious enough for a Malfoy. You could call that dangerous."  
  
Harry searched for something that would clarify things, and that Snape would answer.  
  
Snape cut him off - "They should be clear by now if you want the owlery."  
  
Harry shuffled a little nervously and murmured a non-answer.  
  
"Writing secret notes to Black, I suppose?" the Professor said, walking back towards him. "He'll be rushing here to protect you from the evil Slytherin."  
  
Harry choked on the answer he was about to give. . . "evil Slytherin?"  
  
Snape pushed that almost smile towards something almost pleased.  
  
"I meant Zabini," he said. "Ironically, of course."  
  
"Oh that," Harry replied.  
  
"You seem unconcerned."  
  
"We figure it's just a test of what I'll do. Not important." As he said it Harry realised he actually hadn't been concerned about it since his conversation with Draco.  
  
"A girlfriend, then." Snape said. "I suppose Gryffindors think the useful elements of the Rite are somehow corrupt because not, what is it, spontaneous inspiration and affection."  
  
Harry moved to sit on the parapet. "And Slytherins are of course always putting aside what they actively want - in the interests of the greater game."  
  
Snape chuckled, there didn't seem to be another word for it. "Perhaps I see its use," Harry continued, thinking about Hermione, "if there's something you're clearly wanting, and you know whom to ask. "  
  
Snape moved right up against the nearest pillar, and turned out to the dark. They could hear astronomy or perhaps divination students in the tower above. There was a shrill trilling imperative call. Divination then.  
  
"Draco wants something," Harry finally said.  
  
Snape hesitated more than was dramatically necessary - "I suspect he has a list." They both smiled and, in the moment, Snape added, "So it's a boyfriend then."  
  
"Not yet," Harry replied, without thinking. Stuck with the words, he also forced out "and not necessarily Draco."  
  
"But not out of the question either?"  
  
"Well, perhaps I'm a Slytherin at heart." Snape raised both eyebrows at that. "I don't think any," he wanted to say lover, "'romance' is going to stand up to the expectations, so maybe I'm actually waiting for something more. . . pragmatic." A flickering series of past short-term girlfriends overwhelmed or peeved with Harry being Harry occurred to him. "Perhaps I don't have a choice."  
  
Snape paused. He clearly paused. "In fact , Mr Potter, I'd be. . . grateful. . . if you were keeping an eye on Draco." Harry looked at him with blatant surprise. "He's become my responsibility, it seems."  
  
"I can do that," Harry smiled; "After all, I already was."  
  
Snape nodded an acknowledgment and seemed about to leave.  
  
"You'll owe me though," Harry added abruptly.  
  
Snape stopped and looked at him.  
  
"You're an interesting boy, Harry Potter" he finally said, and swept round to the stairs with the usual dramatic flourish.  
  
More than a little flattered, though it was hardly a blinding compliment, Harry called after him, "Can I take that as a declaration of interest; or do I need it in writing?"  
  
Snape looked back from the stairwell with a clear - and utterly fascinating - smile. "Technically, I don't believe you do." 


	9. a A Love Letter

Declaro IX: A Love Letter  
  
LAVENDER:  
  
Argh, it just has to happen, when I have the very biggest news and, half- way to find Padma, who'll just die when she hears, I get caught in the corridor by Morag McDougall asking about the Astronomy quiz. Of course she needs to make me worried about it so she can feel better. I think that's what happens with clever girls who are, well, not pretty.  
  
I shake her off by sidetracking into the nearest girls' bathroom. It's the haunted one, which is desperately unpleasant, but not Morag. Not that I think Hermione is really not pretty, but she's so concerned not to be. Really, it's embarrassing.  
  
Myrtle is escalating the moan. You'd think by now she would save it for the junior students. The only scary things that happen in here have nothing to do with her.  
  
"Shut up, Myrtle. Nobody cares!" Honestly.  
  
I can't find the round brush. If Padma has 'borrowed' it again. . . And Hermione's face. That declaration was from Justin Finch-Fletchley, I just know it was, because she went pale and looked right at him and I saw he had a hand on Ron Weasley's arm and Ron looked really cross, although that's hardly anything unusual. I couldn't ask though because every one was in a panic about Harry.  
  
Lavender smoothed her hair and brushed up the colour on her cheeks. She settled the fit of her green robes against her stomach and hips (it was strange to wear something so very closely fitted from class to class). She brushed off the fall of her robe for stray crumbs with the only available towel (and Mrytle made a new noise of outrage).  
  
Personally, I think Hilary Malkin has to be worth considering, but Hermione seemed almost offended for Harry. It's not like every future is academic, or anything, and Harry was never like that. That is, like her. And who wants to be left with Snape as an option, I ask you? And, after all, he is Harry Potter. Oh but it's really Ginny Weasley that has all of Gryffindor in a state. Some people were saying she's not allowed, because she's only 15, after all, and some people that she can but she's too young to. . . propose things to a boy. The look on Harry's face. And she just fled. And not even Ron thinks Ginny means anything else by it. Parvati says she must have had help and I know just who would have done it, nobody would like to embarrass Harry right now more than Pansy. Who knows why, just some Slytherin thing and. . .  
  
And that's the really big news. I wonder if Morag's gone yet, Padma is going to just die. It was just the most amazing thing, more amazing than anybody's - I wonder how he did it - this great bright white light that just hung there and then dropped into a silver ball - like a metal quaffle with scratched-in writing all around it and the Malfoy crest on top. And Draco, you've got to give him points for such poise. . . he just stood there.  
  
Oh Circe! Myrtle - that's disgusting. . .  
  
* * *  
  
Ron lay on his stomach in the common room surrounded by books and papers. When Hermione asked where he was, Neville just threw his hands in the air and, already moving down to lunch, pointed the way. In the doorway she passed Ginny, very red in the face, who she'd managed not to say anything to all morning. Judging from her tearful expression, now wasn't the time either.  
  
Hermione took a seat, stepping over open books. She was impressed to see one she didn't know. "Have you been here all morning? I was worried."  
  
He rolled up to sit at her feet. "Did you know that the Declaro spell doesn't have to have the whole owl deal? What am I saying; of course you do."  
  
"Oh, yes, that's just the version in the pamphlets - there are others. Ron?"  
  
"I want to try." She didn't say anything to that. "And I do have things to say," he gestured vaguely at a satchel on the floor, "which, maybe they're not any good, or as good as other things, maybe - but the part I can't do is where I have to find a way to say, you know, that I want to try."  
  
"Oh." Hermione sat down. "Well. What have you got so far?"  
  
He passed her the blank piece of parchment.  
  
Avoiding his eyes, she picked up his quill and quickly wrote, "I love you, Hermione". With only the briefest hesitation, she handed it back to him.  
  
He blew on the ink. She looked away at the window. He rolled it into a scroll and placed it on the floor. He picked up the knife sitting on the hearth and poised his hand above the paper. He began: "ipse. . ."  
  
"Ron!"  
  
He looked at her sharply, brightly.  
  
"You've done the rest?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
Hermione watched while he cut, carefully, along the life line, "ipse", along the heart line, "inhaereo", along the spirit line, "aliusmodi", horizontally, "habeo in animo", and vertically, right down to his wrist. There was loud silence and a singing warmth and she was in his arms with her mouth to his, her tongue sliding into his kiss. He wrapped his free arm around and dragged her in close up against him. Although he didn't watch, the cuts closed and the blood dried on his hand, suspended above the scroll now covered in white ribbons. When she pulled away he said breathlessly, "etiamnum declaro".  
  
* * *  
  
Suddenly everyone seemed to know that, apparently, it was possible to invoke the Rite without owls specifically, using older or newer versions of the spell. But according to Hermione, today was definitely, absolutely and, she said - with no 'I was really rushing with this' clauses, either - the last day.  
  
So, after the rapid dissemination of Ron and Hermione's news - or some of it, they both looked embarrassingly happy - everyone who had obsessed over anyone else in the 7th year was finding reserves of courage. While it had seemed taboo to declare anything for another student - Blaise and Harry had been talked about furtively as something rather freakish - today that unspoken rule vanished. Dozens of students were suddenly looking for new research skills, or a smart friend.  
  
There was a small flurry of unpracticed declarations in Herbology, involving everything from canna lillies to mandrake. Most of them didn't trigger the spell correctly despite coaching. Ron and Hermione held hands all the way from the greenhouses to the castle.  
  
But it was not the happy couple who inspired Professor McGonagall's irritation in last period's Transfiguration class. It was the doves (and one pigeon; Ron bet Hermione was Neville's). She frowned and, when one knocked over the inkwell which was the object of today's lesson, glared - but as no one was obviously responsible, the glare more or less floated around the room looking for somewhere to land.  
  
Between the ad hoc declarations and ensuing bird-related mess it took McGonagall more than 15 minutes to notice.  
  
"Exactly where is Mr Potter?"  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
I watch the giant squid rake a tentacle across the grey surface of the lake and pull my outer cloak a bit tighter. It's that cool autumn day that seems cold because it's been so warm before, and I'm skipping class. Well, class- es. Detentions will follow, even in my 7th year, even for a prefect.  
  
It's early this year - the hell my life routinely becomes. And I sound like an angst-ridden teenager. If Snape were here he'd properly flay me. . . hmm, which seems, not quite like it should seem.  
  
God, I'll never be able to look at Ginny the same way again. There probably were better ways I could have. . . things I could have said. It's not her fault - really I'm not quite sure why it's not, but she feels the way she does and I just don't. Still, I thought we'd settled that years ago, and today she was. . . really she was just the extra easier-to-deal-with problem. Because there was Draco.  
  
I give the thing another look. Still shiny, still spectacularly public, and still says the same thing. The ball wouldn't really fit in the pocket of my robe even if I had on proper robes and not these things - so I have to carry it. It makes my palms sweat. If I read it one more time will I find out, between the lines, what it means? What they want with me this time?  
  
What Draco knows about it I have no idea. I could see him, though only between the movements of other people. Only the people near me knew who it was from, because Ron had to blurt out that it was the Malfoy seal, although I bet that by the end of breakfast the whole Gryffindor table. . . I saw him leave, flanked by the imbeciles.  
  
Even the news that Remus is moving back in today couldn't make this a good day. But, in the end, I'm not sure whether I'm more scared by Malfoy - leaving aside which Malfoy I should be most scared of - or me.  
  
~~ Cho: Poor Harry, always at the centre of the worst kind of attention. You really should have skipped Draco's party. I think you encouraged him.  
  
Harry: What? It's not. . . it doesn't say anything like that.  
  
Cho: Of course not. Slytherin subtle. And, you have to have noticed. . .  
  
Seamus: She's right. Think about it - Zabini, Parkinson, Malfoy. . .  
  
Terry: It'd be all that self-indulgent alienation.  
  
Harry: What?  
  
Seamus: We're just joking, Harry. It doesn't matter. ~~  
  
* * *  
  
At the bottom of Gryffindor tower, a little after dark, Harry came in through the side door - invisibility cloak, moving quietly - there would never have been a problem if Headmaster Dumbledore hadn't been standing at the stairs to the tower basement talking with Draco Malfoy. Harry froze at the door, but Dumbledore looked directly at him.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said. "I'm glad you're here. People have been worried."  
  
Harry removed the cloak. There was never any point with Dumbledore.  
  
"Mr Malfoy was just about to go in to dinner, I believe."  
  
"Headmaster, please. I said I wasn't hungry."  
  
"Well I'm sorry to hear that because I've already arranged for your meal to be sent in to Professor Lupin's quarters."  
  
"Remus is here?" Harry asked.  
  
"Indeed. Draco has been helping him move in all day."  
  
Harry looked at Draco in surprise, but the other boy was barely paying attention. Harry realized he was still holding the silver sphere.  
  
"Let me just ensure Harry's meal comes as well." He went slowly down the stairs, leaving Harry and Draco in the corridor. There was a pause. It seemed long.  
  
"Shows some style and effort," Harry finally said, lifting the ball towards Draco.  
  
"Of course," Draco said, sort of relaxing into Draco Malfoy, and Harry could see how tense he had been before.  
  
"You did know? You have to consent to it being sent on your behalf, don't you?"  
  
Draco stiffened again, every so slightly, but nodded. "May I?"  
  
Harry handed it over. He noticed their fingers touch.  
  
Intently tracing the script, Draco said, "I knew last night. But, I haven't seen it."  
  
Dumbledore re-appeared saying "Well now, I really must join dinner in the Hall." He gave the ball an interested look, at which Draco swiftly passed it back to Harry. "And Professor Lupin is waiting on you both."  
  
With some hesitation, offered the ball to the Headmaster. "Did you want to. . ?"  
  
"Oh no, my dear boy. That's entirely between you and Draco." Which seemed more than ironic, considering not only his presence but absolutely everything else about the situation. It was even ridiculous, which seemed a suddenly Snape-like thought.  
  
The Headmaster gave Harry a particularly irritating twinkle as he said goodbye. 


	10. b A Love Letter

On chairs brought down from the classroom above they ate dinner, delicious as usual, with wine, which was not. Apparently many magical items had to be unpacked by hand, and that, for some reason, was what Draco had been helping with.  
  
"The house elves can't do that?" Harry asked, slightly incredulous.  
  
"Well the elves are more than willing but, sometimes, they are a little more enthusiastic than cautious, particularly with magical items."  
  
Harry had never heard that before, but Remus and Draco both seemed perfectly satisfied that it was true, or at least satisfied to pretend they did.  
  
Draco was indecently polite to Remus, in Harry's opinion, considering he'd always hated him and not only, as far as Harry was concerned, contributed to his being sacked once, but helped ensure he didn't get the Defence Against the Dark Arts position when it regularly came up after.  
  
When Remus went to find the images of Paris he'd been talking about, Harry whispered, "What do you think you're doing Malfoy?"  
  
"What am I doing?"  
  
"You. . ." Harry whispered fiercely, "You're pretending to be friendly to him."  
  
Draco looked surprised. "I am being friendly to him."  
  
"You hate him."  
  
"What? I hardly think anything about him at all."  
  
"You said he dressed like a house elf; and now you're acting all 'oh Paris, don't you just love. . .' - like you're friends."  
  
Draco sat back and his face radiated disdain. "It's called being polite, Potter. I don't know about you, but Malfoys are taught to be polite."  
  
"We're not guests, Malfoy; we're hiding you, or something."  
  
Draco stood up angrily.  
  
"And, I don't know what kind of polite this is," Harry said, placing the silver ball on the table, "but it rudely interrupted my meal this morning."  
  
"Ah, here they are," Remus said from the other side of the door. "Although perhaps I don't have the ones of Versailles at all," he added, coming in.  
  
Harry and Draco stood either side of the table, not growling at one another.  
  
"And this is it," Remus said, looking down at the silver sphere.  
  
He gently turned it from side to side. "It's a very complex spell, Draco. A lot of trouble to go to." He glanced at Harry. "Do remember to tell your father I was impressed when you write to him."  
  
Draco settled for "Of course, Professor," and, after a pause, "Thank you."  
  
As they sat, Remus kept one hand on the ball, moving it around slowly. Harry felt strangely uncomfortable with him reading what was written there, but not as uncomfortable as Draco suddenly seemed.  
  
"You know," Remus said, "this is actually very like. . ." he looked up at Draco.  
  
"Praetermittere," the boy replied softly.  
  
"Is it?" Lupin asked with some excitement.  
  
Draco took out his wand, but as Remus didn't react Harry just watched Draco touch it to the seal and whisper, "Accio."  
  
There was a shimmer and then an image appeared across its surface - like a wizarding photograph but from all sides. A much younger Draco flourished a wand, mouthing a command they couldn't hear. Some kind of dark bird appeared before him and, in a flurry of feathers, flew upwards and out of sight. Image-Draco watched it go and then turned, as if to those watching him, and gave a full, brilliant smile.  
  
Draco quickly touched his wand to the seal again and the ball reverted back to its metallic sheen with rolling cursive script. "a union of wizarding powers" caught Harry's eye and he looked away, to Remus, then, along the line of the werewolf's sight, to Draco, who looked. . . wounded.  
  
Harry didn't know what to do with young Draco's dazzling smile or this Draco's visible pain, so he looked at the table and only heard the other boy get up and leave the room.  
  
"What is it, Remus?"  
  
Remus was looking out after Draco Malfoy.  
  
"You could call it a memory frame - it's a little like a penseive except you use it to give memories to someone else. Very difficult to make."  
  
"Malfoy gave me a memory of Draco?" Remus didn't reply. "Why would he do that?"  
  
"I expect the point was to be giving them away, and for Draco to know that he had."  
  
"Do you mean. . ."  
  
Remus kept an eye on the door. "So he can say he doesn't have, doesn't want, that memory any more."  
  
"But, why that one?"  
  
Remus shrugged, "There may be more. . ."  
  
Harry grabbed the thing and threw it against the far wall, where it hit with a sharp thwack and fell to the ground, rolling towards the hearth. Harry drew his wand, and Remus stopped him. "Whatever Lucius' motives, I don't know if those are memories that should be destroyed."  
  
When Draco returned, the ball was on Lupin's mantle. Without looking at it, Draco quickly said, "I wanted to say thank you for dinner," there was a slight nod, "Goodnight"  
  
"Draco, if you don't mind, there is something else I wanted to discuss with you."  
  
And Harry said "Actually, I have to be somewhere," he looked around as if for a clock, "soon, or even now".  
  
Draco gave them a tense, disbelieving look, but he didn't protest or leave.  
  
Harry tried to find something to say that Draco wouldn't sneer at or. . . grey eyes met green eyes. They were both trapped in this - me and Draco, Draco and I - unless they could do something about it now.  
  
"Your father's unbelievably cruel." It wasn't subtle, but. . .  
  
"Malfoys exceed in everything." Draco replied with, of all things, a smile.  
  
"Right."  
  
"I'll be fine, Harry."  
  
He laughed, shocked. "Harry? With witnesses," he looked towards Lupin.  
  
"I'm considering some strategic realignment."  
  
"Is this like castling? Ron's tried to teach me, but I've never got castling."  
  
"Something like that," Draco replied. "Style, effort, and at least three moves ahead. My father is also a very good teacher. In his own way."  
  
* * *  
  
Harry walked quickly up to Snape's door and knocked, firmly, pulling off his cloak as he did and nervously eyeing the corridor.  
  
The door swung open. "Mr Potter."  
  
Snape was at his desk, there was a fire - it probably was cooler down here - a lounge and an armchair nearby, a green leather let-me-intimidate-you chair near the desk and, it looked like, tea things on a side table.  
  
"Yes, Mr Potter, I drink tea. I also eat; perhaps you haven't been paying attention all these years when we dine in the same hall. Now," Snape put down the quill, "if you've finished gawking. . ." Harry lay the cloak over a chair and nervously wiped his hands. "I presume you've come to tell me what presumably life-threatening emergency kept you away from my class this morning."  
  
Harry took a breath, and Snape gave him a long look then gestured for him to take the armchair. Green leather and almost black wood, Harry thought. How Slytherin.  
  
"Mr Potter? Any time now."  
  
"No." Harry said, in a voice quieter than he wanted.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
That seemed faintly amusing to Harry, but hopefully it wasn't obvious - not a child anymore, repeat, not a child. . . "I'm sure you know why I wasn't in class."  
  
"Brooding and whining over the indignity of a proposal from the Malfoys."  
  
"Apart from the indignity bit - more like stomach-churning terror."  
  
"You will make up the class - Ms Granger no doubt will lend you voluminous notes and you will give me an essay on the topic of both hours in relation to one another by Friday, in lieu of today's missed classes." They both knew that was a lot more lenient than he expected. "If that is all. . ?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Potter, do get to the point then."  
  
"You asked me, more or less, to keep an eye on Draco?"  
  
"I doubt that's the point," Snape replied.  
  
Harry pitched his voice as firmly as possible. "This will go a lot easier if you could give up the evil pose for the duration of the conversation."  
  
Snape gave him Sardonic Smile #3, the now-you-have-five-minutes-to-avoid- detention-for-life special. They'd catalogued them once - #3 had been Harry's contribution.  
  
"Draco's under something like house arrest in the dormitory. Dumbledore seems to have asked Remus Lupin to take care of him. He's there now. His father sent me one, or maybe more, happy, I think, memories of Draco." He looked at Snape. "Along with the declaration to me, he's clearly trying to humiliate him."  
  
Snape stood up and poured himself tea. "And you are telling me this because. . ?"  
  
"You asked me to - more or less."  
  
"I've never known you," he said, putting down the pot steadily, "to be so compliant."  
  
Harry suspected Snape was good enough at all this - lies, secrets and silence - to know that this was the moment. "I said you would owe me."  
  
Snape handed Harry the cup of tea and sat down again, not behind the desk, but near the fire, on the dark lounge - black or dark red or green, it was kind of dim over there. "And what is it you think I owe you."  
  
"We have three hours left, maybe a little more," Snape clearly shifted, but Harry couldn't see his expression, "and you need to send a declaration to me."  
  
There was no hesitation. "Do tell me why."  
  
Snape lent on the arm of the lounge. The sight of Professor Snape apparently relaxing like that, hardly lounging but definitely un-stiffened, was beyond weird. Harry got up and moved to the armchair facing the lounge. There was a lot of space between them, but it still seemed close and too informal. He tried looking at the fire.  
  
"Ron and Hermione - you would have noticed."  
  
"They were hardly subtle."  
  
"So. Your declaration to Hermione is no use to you now."  
  
"I am fairly confident I have more to offer than Ronald Weasley."  
  
"Except that's not how it works, is it." Harry folded both legs under him and gave Snape a glance. "I'm really happy for them, but it's so easy too - just say you want each other and everyone is thrilled and excited."  
  
If Snape knew what he meant he didn't give a clue. "There is more at stake that Mr Weasley's love life."  
  
Not watching Snape didn't particularly seem to help Harry's concentration, because his voice was, in fact, more than a bit attractive, and he kept hearing Oliver Wood in his head saying Snape really was rather - rather what, he really should have heard that out. Having Snape say "love life," even in that snide tone. . .  
  
"You have to participate. . ."  
  
"So this is some Gryffindor insanity, is it? Rescue the poor Professor from Slytherin plots to entangle him."  
  
"Maybe it's a Slytherin insanity to rescue myself from Death Eater plots."  
  
Snape seemed to hesitate. "Did the Headmaster suggest this?"  
  
Harry felt that was a minor victory for some reason. "You don't need anything as publicly complicated as competing with Ron Weasley for Hermione's contract, and I need. . ." Out of the corner of an eye caught Snape's movement, and faltered. "Malfoy obviously has plans I need to avoid, and you would be a distraction. . ." Snape snorted. "I mean, he'd likely think he was getting what he wanted from both of us."  
  
He heard Snape move and watched him unfold, smoothly, and walk to the fireplace, whispering something that pushed the fire down to flickering embers. "And you're suggesting, are you, that my competing with Draco Malfoy for Harry Potter's contract would be less publicly complicated."  
  
"It makes more sense," Harry replied quickly.  
  
"You're hardly apprentice material." Not scorn, just a statement of fact.  
  
"You're gay, and. . . I'm gay." He just couldn't help adding, "I mean, it seems. And, well, they think I'm enough of a fool, and you're enough of a bastard. . ."  
  
This time there was scorn. "And you think I'm a likely partner for that experiment?"  
  
Harry looked away, at the lounge where the Professor had, ah, lounged - no, at the floor. Do it. "They just have to believe it, I mean, it doesn't have to mean. . ."  
  
Suddenly Snape was leaning right over him, touching distance, then brush of his robe distance, then body heat on his hands and breath on his face and very dark eyes very close and that voice saying, "But that's what you want, isn't it?" 


	11. c A Love Letter

It seemed impossible to look away. There was a hot weight in his stomach.  
  
I have faced death, Harry grandiosely told some part of himself that wanted to make a run for the door; and there was room for that - Snape had left him room. Calculated, all of it.  
  
"Maybe," he whispered. Not going to run, the stupid Gryffindor bit mentally added. He gave Snape, he hoped, the heated look that certain other bits of him were insisting he could do. He let himself look like maybe that was what he wanted. "Maybe."  
  
He blinked slowly, picturing to himself as explicitly as possible behind his eyelids what it would be like to be allowed, to be asked, and oh yes to be told to put his hands on Severus Snape. "But I don't have to get it."  
  
Snape was far too quickly away and at the door, opening it. "Get out Mr Potter."  
  
Harry took a couple of steps in his direction. "It's our best chance."  
  
"50 points from Gryffindor for rank disobedience. Get out now before I make it 100."  
  
Harry walked right up to him. "It'll protect both of us - for god's sake, it's obvious. You'll get. . ."  
  
The door slammed and Harry was shoved against it hard, with a glaring Snape gripping the back of his neck and, god, right against him. He was caught between Snape's hand and his angry mouth, only inches above Harry's.  
  
"I get what, Mr Potter?" Harry ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips, and Snape looked coolly down at him. His other long hand ran firmly down the fitted line of Harry's robe, across his chest and. . . he hardened to a painful jumping ache when Snape grasped his hip through the cloth and then slid right across to press roughly against his cock through the fine cloth. "This?"  
  
Harry made a noise he didn't know existed.  
  
"Boy?" Snape said soft and hard right above his face.  
  
Harry moved. Against Snape's hand, with a tingling rush that turned it into a hard thrust. Against Snape's chest, with a splayed hand that seemed to suck heat from the body in front of him. Against Snape's face, with three tentative fingers that hummed at the contact. Against Snape's mouth, with tentative pressure, afraid he'd be pushed away but utterly unable not to. Not to kiss him.  
  
Snape's mouth drew over his in a rough slide and there was a warm wet sweep of tongue that Harry drew in as hard as he could. It was clumsy and he knew he could do better in the part of his brain not screaming at him to move. Again he pushed forward into Snape's almost painful grip. Again, and Snape kissed him and he was hot all over. Again, and the hand at the back of his neck slid fingers up into the nape of his hair. Again, and Harry broke away for breath, his face sliding along Snape's neck in a damp gasp, and it was all about to completely disappear. There was a flash of dark and light as he came.  
  
He blinked at the heat stinging his eyes, ducking his head past Snape's appalled expression. Both the man's hands were somehow at his shoulders, but it took him a moment to realise he was being pushed out the door.  
  
"Go now, Potter," Snape said roughly, "and stop making a fool of yourself."  
  
There was no way. . . he looked up furiously as he stumbled near the door. He froze at the sight of Snape's mouth, wet from his. It was shockingly strange and entirely right. Harry was calm, angry, thrilled, alone and. . . sticky - but Snape was shutting the door and he had to say quickly, before the opening closed - "It'll work. We've got two hours."  
  
It shut with a clunk and click.  
  
Harry stood in the corridor.  
  
I kissed Snape, he thought. Disorientation, and possibly fear, came back in a rush. Snape had his hand on my cock. Merlin, I. . . He leant shakily on the wall.  
  
* * *  
  
Ron leant shakily against the wall. In his head he ran through several possibilities: her parents need to think I'm the right choice; I want her not to regret it (sheesh, not that one); I. . . From inside there was a sound like glass shattering far away.  
  
He took a deep breath and turned to Snape's office door and knocked, loudly.  
  
In an instant the door was thrown open and a furious Snape loomed out over him.  
  
"What in. . ? I will not have my rooms constantly invaded by out of control hormonal adolescents!"  
  
Ron said, "Ah."  
  
"How enlightening. Out of my sight, Mr Weasley."  
  
He almost left. "Professor Snape. That night, when we were talking, you said. . ."  
  
Snape seemed to draw up further, and Ron was finally about to take the survivor's way out when the Professor snapped out "8pm on Fridays. You will meet me in the Potions classroom. You will not be late. You will not tell anyone what you are doing or with whom including, in fact especially not, Harry Potter. Are we clear?"  
  
"And you will. . ? Actually. . ."  
  
"Given what I can reasonably expect a mediocre student to absorb," he sneered. "I repeat, are we clear?"  
  
Ron nodded quickly. "Yes, Sir."  
  
Snape paused with one hand on the door he was about to close. Just as Ron would have thanked him he barked, "Then remove yourself from my door. And, for the record, the next teenager who knocks on it I will feed to Hagrid's dog by hand."  
  
Ron was already at the stairs.  
  
* * *  
  
//Dear Father,  
  
I received your last letter this morning. I always appreciate your advice. Of course I regret disappointing you in any way, but I assure you I do have Malfoy interests at heart.  
  
I know you will be pleased to hear that I have, tonight, been selected to assist the new Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts for the remainder of my 7th year. As he is a close confidant of the Headmaster I am sure that this will greatly increase my importance here at Hogwarts. If you have any advice for me in this matter you know I am always your dutiful son.  
  
Please give my regards to Mother and assure her I am perfectly well, as she seems to have been worried for some reason.  
  
Sincerely yours,  
  
Draco//  
  
Draco scrolled, shrank and secured the letter, and let his eagle-owl out into the night. It was certainly not his most convincing performance. He watched till he couldn't see the bird anymore, and could concede that he felt. . . unhappy about this separation from his father. He had always been Lucius' son. Never Narcissa's.  
  
For so long he had lived for moments when his father looked at him with pride and satisfaction. That time he summoned the raven - he was only nine - his father had put a hand on his head, smoothed his hair back away from his face, and smiled, "My dragon."  
  
"Draco." He turned to see Remus Lupin in the room behind him. "Perhaps you should shut the window; it's colder tonight."  
  
As he did so, Lupin moved to the sideboard and opened a drawer. Draco had thought he was asleep - which was careless.  
  
"I can't sleep either," the werewolf said. Draco looked out again at the very new moon; I'm sharing quarters with a werewolf, he thought with some amusement. Narcissa would be appalled.  
  
"Do you play chess?" Lupin asked. Draco gave him a wolfish smile.  
  
* * *  
  
Dragging himself back through the dormitory, through their door, Ron threw himself in a heap on the bed - clothes, shoes and all.  
  
He opened one eye towards Harry, who hadn't said a thing when he entered.  
  
"I am absolutely fagged," Ron said.  
  
"But good?"  
  
"Yeah," he grinned.  
  
Harry went back to his letter and Ron drifted off into something exhausted but pleasant.  
  
* * *  
  
//Mr Potter  
  
Our interaction will be strictly guided by the Rite's requirements. My habits will render any pretence at a more interested relationship than we already have unnecessary.  
  
You will not explain or elaborate on this declaration in any way to anyone. You will not come to my rooms. Your responses will be timely and succinct.  
  
We will employ only private modes of correspondence. My owl Thetis is the only one to be used in this matter. Therefore, please find enclosed the requisite document. You should know that this, along with any immediate reply could, if the wizard is sufficiently skilled, be retrieved from the Hall of Record.  
  
Professor S. Snape//  
  
//Dear Harry Potter,  
  
I write, as tradition allows, declaring my interest in negotiating a personal contract with you under the Rite of Engagement. As we are already well acquainted I shall forgo references and simply submit that our shared interests ensure our more than sufficient compatibility and mutual benefit.  
  
There is a great deal I can teach you and share with you.  
  
I warmly anticipate your reply.  
  
etiamnum declaro  
  
Severus Snape //  
  
* * *  
  
HARRY:  
  
I scroll the pages back together again one more time.  
  
I spell open the chest in which I keep personal items. After a moment I spell concealing and securing charms onto the scroll. I'm not sure if "figo" works for this though, so I add another variation. I lock the chest, and consider a password charm.  
  
Over my shoulder I hear Ron cough. He's half undressed - which I'm sort of relieved to note doesn't bother or interest me at all - and watching me curiously.  
  
Minutes later, with the lights out and the warm covers around me I'm not more inclined to sleep. My mind keeps. . .  
  
Was that sex, does it count? He didn't. . . and we didn't even. . . How embarrassing, I just. . . he must think I'm such a child.  
  
But there was a moment, when he pulled away, and I know his hand was shaking. I play it over again in my head. And then again, because it's fun (and I shift awkwardly in my bed wondering if Ron is asleep yet). He was shaking.  
  
Etiamnum declaro. The letter had flared warm and bright in my hand as I read the words. I glance at the chest and wonder if it would be safer somewhere else.  
  
"So Harry?" Ron whispers loudly.  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Are you going to tell me what it is?"  
  
Harry smiled.  
  
"A love letter."  
  
THE END 


End file.
